Folie à Deux
by damn expensive eggs
Summary: like, actually terrible. awful representation of mental illnesses, any sort of human relationships, and just about everything else. please stop reading and faving this. it's only kept up so i can laugh at it every six months. don't add it to your alerts, either, because it's dead. thank you.
1. Session One: Questions Unanswered

**A/N**: **Folie à deux** (literally, "a madness shared by two") is a rare psychiatric syndrome in which a symptom of psychosis (particularly a paranoid or delusional belief) is transmitted from one individual to another.

This madness will be later shared by Tweek and Craig.  
Erg. Writing in Tweek's POV is a little hard, because he's normally so jittery and whatnot. I'm writing him all angsty; but whatever. He's 17, who wouldn't be angsty with this syndrome?

This could be seen as a prologue, or maybe not. It's shorter than I want it to be. Although I do like where this story will go, so R&R is much appreciated!

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"For how long has this been occurring, son?" The old shrink slowly shifted her vision from her notepad to my face. I didn't return the eye contact, instead I was counting the dustwads on the carpet. How long has what been occurring… what did I just tell her?

"W-what? Th-the dreams?" Before, I'd explained to her what images I see while I sleep. I barely sleep to begin with.

Most kids my age would never remember their dreams, and if they did, it would be some screwed up fantasy about climbing up a mountain with Osama Bin Laden and suddenly finding yourself having tea with John Travolta. As screwed up as that sounds, nothing is as bizarre as the world around _me_.  
I hadn't yet gone into deep, disturbing details with the shrink. Yet, she's managed to write some pretty decent 'notes' about me. I'd always wondered what shrinks jot down into their yellow pads. Dr. Thorton had penmanship like a computer font. I could read it upside-down. It read, _-schizophrenia, + delusional disorder_.

"Yes. The dreams involving the 'garden gnomes'," she replies. The gnomes were only the start of my beliefs. Literally, the start. I figure this is what I should tell her.

"Ever since I was seven or eight years old." I almost felt like bawling. That's nearly ten years. She writes that down.

Her previous question was vague. In fact, every single one of the questions she has asked me so far this past half-hour has been vague. It's like she's been playing 20Q with me. For a first session, this isn't helping me at all.

"Mhm, I see… and what do the gnomes _do_?" she asks. Oh, Jesus Christ, I'm afraid to say this. I could hurl chunks at any moment.

"Th-th-they… well, it started out w-with…" Sweat droplets form on my forehead and temples. "My underwear," I spit out. "They stole my underwear. Almost every night." I expected her to burst into laughter, but I guess it is a psychologist's job to not laugh at a patient. Actually, she says nothing. Because, in a flash, our time is up.

I leave the badly decorated room; it had fluorescent lights and dead plants. Was that meant to be peaceful?

I find my mom and dad sitting in the waiting room, sipping coffee. Upon seeing me, they nod to say that they'll drive me home.

"How was your first session?" my mother asks from the passenger's seat.

"Fine," is my default answer.

"I was hoping it would be a 'great!', but it's only the first session," my dad says. "Well, hey, how about some coffee?" He says this while passing our own coffee shop.

"Oh, God! No!" I respond without hesitation. I knew that if I had anymore coffee, it would only worsen my tension.

-------

Every night is a new method of sleep attempt. Whether it be counting animals floating overhead or eating some strange sleep-concoction from a blender. Tonight, I've blended apple-cinnamon oatmeal mix with milk and Nesquik. Also, of course, my dad's ground coffee. It's going to be sugary as Hell and I'm sure as Hell it's going to keep me up longer than I want to. Why am I drinking it, then?  
Every time I close my eyes I can sense them arriving. It's not just the gnomes; oh, it's more. So much more that I am afraid to sleep. So why was I trying to get myself to sleep?

I know that at certain times in the night, all the invisible monsters become visible. I can close my eyes as tight as I possibly can, but the demons will still melt through my eyelids.  
These monsters seem to look mentally illustrated by 6 year-old afraid of the dark; that's me on the inside. Here I am, 17 years old. Afraid of the dark, and afraid to say so. Sometimes, afraid of the light. Monsters in broad daylight can cause one to vomit gratuitously. I believe in them. I see them, but only in my dreams can I feel them. What does this mean?

Everyone child has a different monster in their closet. It's usually just a pile of sweaters combined with tricks of light. But can there be tricks of darkness?  
My demons don't hide in closets. There is no room in the closet for any monsters or demons, for I am taking up space in the closet. It's too dark in my closet to find the knob to come out.

I can hardly cope with the hiding. I cannot cope with these beliefs. No human can guide my through this.

The stresses of my worries are indescribable in the English language. Why don't I kill myself right now?


	2. Tuesday's Ten Dollar Tips

A/N: Hi, guys! Thanks for the positive reviews. I didn't get many, but it's quality, not quantity as everyone knows. :) This chapter's a little shorter than I wanted it to be too, but I'll get with the reasonable lengths someday.

Thanks to imaginaaation deviantART for letting me use the ten-dollar tip concept!  
Anyway, enjoy, read and review!

* * *

There is a reason I will not kill myself.

And that reason is Craig Tucker.

Craig Tucker is a man of romance. I learned this one night while filling in for my dad at the coffee shop about a year ago. He came in with his current boyfriend at the time, Clyde—Craig was gay, obviously. Bisexual, to be precise. He shuffled between boyfriends and girlfriends for months at a time, ever since 7th grade. He was proud to be himself; he's not hiding, like I am. Good for him.

It was that night I realized I wanted to be with Craig. He'd treated Clyde so well; I was first overwrought with envy upon seeing them together.  
Then, I got scared. I was scared that if I were to someday be with Craig, we wouldn't last long. I would be a crap boyfriend. I've never had a kiss nor have I been with anyone in my 17 years. I'm still a virgin. Would he and I, like, _click_ together?  
I then experienced realization. I realized that I could never be with Craig. With slight optimism, I've given myself a chance to try and invite myself into Craig's world.

All the while I was experiencing these emotions, I was just watching Craig and Clyde share the one cup of coffee I'd served them. Just for Craig, I had made the coffee perfect temperature, put in the perfect amount of sugar and cream.  
Getting ready to set sail, they shared a laugh before Craig came up to the counter with a tip. "Thanks for the coffee, hon. It was real sweet. Take this; it's the rest of what I got." And with that, he shifted his direction back to Clyde to join hands with him.

The bill he set down on the counter was worn and folded into a thin tube-like shape. I unraveled it to find Alexander Hamilton looking in my general direction. "…a ten-dollar tip?" Wow, what a sweet guy. I was visibly shaking--with excitement.

Speaking of weekly events, he came to the coffee shop nearly every time I filled in; which was usually on a Tuesday. Over the past year, he's come in with four different companions. Three of which were boys; he had only one girlfriend last year. With each of them, he shared one cup of coffee. He would always leave me that ten-dollar tip.

I don't love him for money. If he and I were together, I wouldn't need a dime in the world as long as I had him. Yeah, it's cheesy. But it's true.

However, my role in the relationship would be a huge problem. I can't sleep at night, I twitch, I complain, I spaz and I see monsters. _Those ugly, hairy bastards. _I wish they would quit interfering with my life. Because of them, they are my life. Aside from loving Craig from afar, my life is dedicated to getting rid of them. I'm getting rid of them to be with Craig. That is my purpose. I only started seeing Dr. Thorton this week—she's probably going to prescribe me medication.

Fuck meds.

Tomorrow is Monday. Monday means waking up for one purpose; to get rid of those nasty bastards. The monsters in my head. Were they in my head? Or were they real?

South Park High School will not specialize in this department. This is why I'm _failing. _

After tomorrow comes Tuesday. My once a week chance to talk with Craig.

* * *

Here's Monday; it's 6 o'clock. I have another appointment scheduled to see Dr. Thorton. I thought that was only once a week?

My parents drive me to an entirely different location. It's a neighborhood around where Kenny lives. I enter a basement-type place that is lit by dozens of candles. Damn, it smelled good. Not only that, there were landscape paintings and funky plants. _This_ was peaceful. I don't want an ugly creature disturbing me here. Here, I felt safe.

"Tweek… Tweak? Come in, please." Dr. Thorton led me into a smaller room decorated similarly to the waiting room. This one has a huge, brown leather couch. I feel like I'm going fall inside of it. It's mushy as Hell.

"Tweek!" Dr. Thorton grabs my attention. "From our first encounter, I've concluded that you're quite delusional." She got straight to the point. No long lecture or follow-up; just 'you're delusional.'

"What do you think I should do about it?" I ask. Although I know the answer to this: meds.

"We talk for a bit. I want to know what goes on inside your mind," she said. Not the answer I was expecting.

"I thought we did that yesterday," I reply.

"We need to talk even more. _You _need to talk even more. In this room, you can say anything. You will not be criticized. Make yourself at home." This made me wonder; where _is _home?

Although, I accept this comforting gesture. I think I can trust the lady for now. "Alright, Doctor T. Let's face it; I'm messed up. _Fucked_ up. I see these things… as you know, it all started with the gnomes when I was eight. They'd come in at 3:30 in the morning and steal my underpants. For what reason? Profit.

"I'd still be awake at 3:30 in the morning because all I drink is coffee. I drink it nonstop now and I drank it nonstop then.

"Over the years, it's gone from gnomes to beasts and I know they want to get me. I try to run away, but they're at every corner. Whether I'm awake or asleep… and I don't sleep. Ever." Why was I trying to make myself sound so _dramatic? _I sleep sometimes. Don't I? If I do, I don't notice.

"What do they want from you?" she asks.

"Hell if I know. I don't plan on _ever_ finding out. My theory is that they're trying to get me to kill myself, but it's not working. There's a reason I'm alive…" I trail off.

"What's that reason?" I was hoping she wasn't going to ask.

"Craig. Craig Tucker," I have no problem telling her his full name. It's not like she is going to gossip around the high school or anything. "I've loved him since last year, but he's always occupied with some other person. He's had a lot of boyfriends and girlfriends in his time." I am giving this woman a fucking life story. She's doing her job well. She just nods the whole time.

The rest of the session, I tell her what she wants to hear; maybe even some things that she doesn't want to hear. The vibe of the room and her presence is comforting. I have so many questions to ask _her _about _myself. _I never ask her my questions though; regarding the medication and what exactly my problem is in one long scientific word. We thank each other. Our next appointment is Thursday… but I don't think I can wait that long for my queries.

Maybe I can ask Kyle tomorrow.

* * *

A/N: Hip-hip hooray for psychological!Kyle!

Edit; I changed a few minor parts to make him a little more, um, spazzy? It's really unnoticeable. In the future, I'll probably make him go insane to compensate for this overly calm Tweek. ^^;


	3. Inharmonic

A/N: Sorry for the huge delay. All these ideas were running around my head and I had no laptop for the week to type them all up. Well, here it is. That's all I have to say. Hope you like it.

* * *

"It's simple psychology," Kyle said through orange-colored braces. "These images you're seeing are probably signs from the back of your mind. They're trying to tell you something. Like, maybe to stop seeing someone or doing something." That wasn't simple to me at all. Nothing in psychology was simple to me; that's what made this so hard.

"But they're not giving off any message except for the fact that they want to _kill _me!" I shot at him. I'm a wreck this morning—my hair was messier and greasier than usual, bags underneath my eyes from lack of sleep.

Kyle took a bite of his kosher sandwich. Lunch time was the only time of day I could talk to him. Or talk to anyone, for that matter.  
"Maybe that's just the thing. Maybe you should just kill yourself." What was I supposed to say to that?  
"Thanks," I mutter, keeping in my unsought anger.

"Now, I don't actually think you should kill yourself, Tweek… it's just that, the way you describe it, it sounds like they…" I didn't listen to what he had to say next, because I was already gone. I didn't need to hear more from him. He doesn't understand… does he? Maybe I should just go back and ask him some more…

"Tweek!" I hear him call. "Tweek, what the hell's your problem? Come back!" What the hell's my problem? I'll tell him my problem.

I swing around quickly, tromping straight in Kyle's direction; but before I can take two steps, I bang heads against someone.

The two of us fall backwards to the hard tiled floor in an instant. I'd gotten some chocolate milk on my shirt and the boy in front of me had it spilled all over his face. When he leaned up, I saw that the fallen figure before me was Craig. Oh my _God. _

"Oh, Jesus Christ! I-I-I'm so sorry! Do you need help? I couldn't be any more sorry, oh, Christ!" I ramble on apologies and explanations as I hold a hand out to help up Craig. The expression on my face must be priceless; people all around us were staring and some were trying to hold in laughter.

"Craig? Craig, are you okay?" Craig puts the messed up tray to his side and brushes his shirt off and shakes milk off his head.

"I'm fine." He grabs my offered hand—best moment of my life—and I guide him to his feet.

"I'm really sorry about your lunch and your clothes, it was an accident, I swear to God," I slip out a million and one excuses and apologies. I should just relax. It's no big deal, right? I got food all over his clothes. God, they look expensive!

"Don't worry about it, dude. It's cool. Shit happens." He pats me softly on the shoulder, and that's that. He leaves the food and spilt milk on the floor and takes a tissue out of his pocket to wipe his face. He just leaves me standing in the middle of the cafeteria. Everyone's moved on, the minor calamity is over.

"Haha, fag." Eric Cartman brushes my shoulder. Leave it to him to be the aftermath of an accident.

From here, I run. My face is probably flushed a perfect pink, complete with streaming tears. All of that happened too fast—only two and a half minutes and I've fucked up. I'm running to an easy location. It's not very secretive, but it's the only place to go right now. The boy's bathroom.  
I lock myself into the last stall and sit on the toilet with my face buried in my palms. Craig said not to worry about it. He said it was cool, and shit happens. It's not cool, shit's happening to me around every corner and I _am_ going to worry about it. What a mediocre high school moment; bumping into your crush and spilling lunch-shit all over him. _Well, he should have been looking where he was going. _He probably knows I love him. _He's clueless. _He probably thinks I'm insane and he'll never come to the coffee shop again. _You_ are _insane. _I think I need meds or something. _I think it would be best if you laid off the drugs. _I'll apologize to him tonight... if he still comes to the coffee shop. _I bid you luck._

I'm still crying; it's a silent cry. It's hard to breath. I think I just felt three full periods disappear. _School's over, fuckface. _I cautiously open the stall door, terrified of what I might see when I enter this 'world' I've been hiding from for 3 hours. _Get the hell out before someone finds out you skipped your classes._ I think I'll take a nap when I get home. _Are you sure that's a good idea? _I'll only sleep for an hour... then I can take shift at my dad's shop, and wait for Craig. Happy Tuesday.

* * *

_Dead silence. Strobe lights flash a variety of colors; so bright, so fast, it would blind any human. Your eyes are dilated to microscopic black circles. The coruscating lights die down at a creeping pace. The room then becomes pitch black. A tall, wide silhouette presents itself by opening its eyes. Red eyes; yellow scaly skin oozing unknown fluids. The thing slowly approaches with feet nearly six feet wide.  
The room is made of mirrors. To the human eye, it looks as though there are one million monsters in the room, but there is only one. Your heart is still, you don't blink. You're paralyzed.  
With each step, the glass floor cracks an inch. The beast's steps makes not a sound, they only vibrate the room. The only sound you hear is your silent screams as the monstrosity separates his black lips. The lips revealed seven-hundred glutinous teeth anticipating the taste of you. Before the thing can do anything to you, the wall-to-wall mirrored room shatters. Your muscles loosen, finally, you're no longer paralyzed. __The mirror pieces disintegrate along with the beast. You're falling now at three-hundred miles an hour, the wind pressure ripping through your skin. Your inharmonious landing is on_—

"JESUS CHRIST!" I am woken up by the piercing screech of my own voice. Holy fuck.

They're trying to eat me. What's stopping them? Why don't they just kill me now? _They're a part of you_.

I don't feel like I can move for another six hours. _Terrifying, wasn't it?_ I'm going to have to, though.

I look at the clock; 5:30. I still have time to get to the shop. That is, if, I am not so affected by the nightmare that I can't even manuever myself out of my own house.

When I arrive at my dad's place, it's empty, as usual. My dad would always ramble on with these metaphors about homemade coffee and it doesn't matter whether one person a week comes or a fifty people a day and other shit.

5:46... Craig usually comes around 6:40. I've got a rough hour of staring into space ahead of me. It may not be 'staring into space' if there are going to be red-eyed monstrosities sitting in the coffee shop; I've never seen anything in here before. It better not start tonight.

I know that no one is going to come in tonight except for Craig, so I don't even bother standing on my feet at the counter, so I take a seat on the green sofa near the entrance. I need a time killer. What killed time while I was in the bathroom earlier? Oh, yes. Crying and internally complaining.

I'm not going to do that again. All I need right now is genuine patience. I'm going to bore myself to tears, but who knows, it could be all worth the wait.

I look at my old, wrecked watch. 6:21. Nineteen minutes.

What if he's with his girlfriend or boyfriend or something? He'd totally ignore me 99.8% of the time, like always. _You spilt lunch on him today. _But what about the incident today? He'd have to talk about it... _Now you're getting it. _I'll just bring it up. Would it be polite to apologize again? I already did about forty times... _Should have saved the other thirty-nine for tonight. _I'll do it anyway. _Once again, I bid you luck._

6:49. He's not here yet. Oh, I knew I fucked up today. I knew he wouldn't come in.

At this point, I'm banging myself in the head. _Physical punishment isn't the answer. _

I then hear screaming from outside.

"Get the fuck off my case, douche!" I hear a girl's voice shout.

"Fine, whatever..." The second voice trails off.

"Do not say that to me. Both you and I know..." The girl's voice trails off as well, still angered.

The argument ends with a "Hmph!" from both ends. Rough night for those two... what time is it now? 6:53...

The door swings open furiously. Black hair, blue jacket; Craig. He doesn't even notice me sitting on the couch behind him. _He just broke up with his girlfriend. _I feel as if I'm paralyzed; I'm afraid to speak to him.

"Hello?" he calls over the edge of the counter. "Are you guys open?"

"Y-yeah, we're open..." I mumble, but still loud enough for Craig to hear me.

"Oh, hey, Tweek." he greets me nicely, like he didn't just have an argument with his girlfriend.

"W-what can I get for you?" I ask him casually.

"Black coffee," he says.

"How would you like that coffee?" I am such an idiot. _He just said he wanted it black. _Craig chuckles at my question.

"Black," he says again.

"Do you want cream in that?" Ah, fuck. It's a friggin' habit. _Get him the damn coffee._

"Haha, no. Black, black as can be. Black, black, blackity black. Close your eyes for reference." If I close my eyes, I won't see black. I'll see gnomes.

"Alright." I reach for a mug and put it under the coffeemaker. "Look, dude, I am so, so, sorry about the thing in lunch today. It's just that, well, I—"

"Dude, it's seriously no big deal. Why are you so guilty about it?"

"I-I don't know. It's just that, I was concerned about your nice clothes and the sticky food would get all over you and stuff. I guess that's just the way I am. Always guilty."

"I see." The arrangement of words in the English language that are really hard to respond to. 'I see' to me, usually means A) 'I don't care' or B) 'change the subject'. I go with B.

"S-so I just heard this shouting outside... was that you?"

"Yeah. My girl's a bitch. Ex-girl now." I slide the filled mug across the counter to him. "She thinks I'm fucking someone else. I told I her I wasn't, and then I accused her of fucking someone else, too. I was just trying to get back at her because she pissed me off. I had no evidence she was fucking someone else! But it turns out she was. She had no evidence that I was fucking someone else, and that's just great, because I'm not fucking anyone right now. . . you don't care, do you?"

Do I look like I don't care? I've been listening to him this entire time.

"Oh, no. I care. Continue." that came out more sarcastic than I wanted it to be.

"Well, it doesn't get anywhere else but there." He sips his coffee quicker than he should have. "Ah, this is hot!"

"Uhh, yeah... hahaha!" I laugh a little harder than I should have, too.

"Hey, hey, hey, no laughing, bucko!" he says with a playful smile. "Crap, now my tongue's gonna burn for the next two weeks..."

"Yeah, I hate that feeling. I think a shitload of toothpaste will help it go away faster, though," I tell him. I smile while telling him, too—hey, that's new.

"Toothpaste? Where'd you learn that?"

"Well, I drink a lot of coffee, you know. So I guess I know a little more about coffee than the average 17 year-old," I lean to the side of the counter coolly.

"Oh, really? Where does it come from?"

"It was first discovered in the highlands of Ethiopia."

"I thought it was from Columbia."

"That's what everyone thinks." He and I laugh wholeheartedly, but nothing's funny.

"Got the time?" he asks. I'm afraid to tell him. He probably has to be somewhere.

"My watch says 7:19," I tell him truthfully when I easily could have lied to get him to stay longer.

"Shit. I gotta go, man." How did I know? "Thanks for the coffee. And the comfort." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another crumpled ten-dollar bill. "Here you g—"

"Keep it," I say, sliding the bill back towards him. "It's on me."

He grins. "Thanks, buddy." With that, he shuffles out of the coffee shop and disappears into the snowy streets.

I was floating on cloud nine.


	4. Sixth Sense

A/N: Oh, wow, guys. This is a big chapter. I think it is. Event-wise and, uh, length-wise. I didn't know how to end the chapter! I guess I'm sticking with cliffhangers.

For those of you who have not seen the Sixth Sense, that's okay! The dialogue included in this chapter from the movie is very self-explanatory. So just read along, you'll understand. :)

Remember to review, please! Reviews are the only things that keep me writing. Updates will come faster and chapters will be better! Actually, the amount of time in between chapters depends on the length of it… I hope they're not too short. :( I'm trying to get better with the lengths! I'm consciously checking the word count. Is everything happening too fast? Just right? Too slow?

This chapter has been sponsored by my super best friend, **andiixcore**. Andii is a great writer and deserves more reviews on her stories! She's all South Park, all awesome. Read Senza Interruzione and GOSSIP BOYS! I co-wrote chapter four of Gossip Boys with her. You'd all enjoy her stories, though. I'm cereal. :)

* * *

"Tweek, I saw you last on Monday. How have things been since then?" Dr. Thorton asked ever so excitedly. What was the shrink asking for? How my life has been socially? Or how terrifying my dreams have become? I figure my answer should include both. After all, my brain has been combining my social life and the horrific images into one glob of holy shit.

I don't even know where to _start._ The glare she's giving only makes me more agitated; like she is going to mutate before my eyes.

"I haven't gotten much sleep these past three nights. I'm up all night imagining what would happen to me if I do fall asleep, and I'm also thinking about Craig. I try to close my eyes for a little bit, and I see Craig. But he's not Craig, he's some sort of abomination of Craig that my mind keeps inventing. When I open my eyes, I still see that Craig-abomination creature standing in the darkness of my bedroom… he doesn't do anything, though. I try to escape him by closing my eyes, but he's there, too. I just hate to look at it," I explain. I sounded redundant; she probably couldn't make any conclusions with the nonsense I just spat out.

She looked as if she hasn't gotten much sleep herself. Her gray-black hair, which was usually pulled back into a neat bun, was in a messy ponytail. She most definitely wasn't wearing any of that age-defying make-up, which added about thirty years to her complexion.

"Have you interacted with the Tucker boy lately?" she asks.

"Yeah, on Tuesday. He came into my dad's coffee shop and we talked for a little bit. He had just broken up with his, uh, girlfriend. He didn't seem that pissed about it. I think I made him feel better," I said proudly. My proud smile then fades when I remember the incident earlier that day. "But that day, in school, I bumped into him in the lunch room and spilled milk and food crap all over him. I thought he'd be really mad, but he was cool about it."

"Mhm, I see. Did you apologize to him?" What is she, my mom?

"Yes, I apologized to him. Like, a gazillion times. That's not important, though."

"Oh, but it is. A simple 'sorry' or two can change a person's reaction completely."

"Sorry or two? How about a thousand apologies and explanations to Jesus Christ? That was my reaction. My freak reaction."

"So, you said you see these images while you're awake?" She decides to change the subject.

"Yeah. Both while I'm awake and asleep. Mostly while I'm asleep, so if they're following me around in real life, I can't just take a nap to get away from them."

"Okay, Mr. Tweak. I'm not going to prescribe you any medications just yet. But I have something that I want you to do before we see each other next." She says this while setting down her yellow notepad behind her, and getting up from her superior chair. I try to read what the notepad says. It says *_Paranoia, *irrational delusions. _On the bottom of the page, written a little slanted, it reads _possible mood disorder, socially isolated and closet homosexual. _Her notes are far too obvious. But what do I know? I'm not a shrink.

But I _do_ know I'm fucked up.

Wait, what? She wants me to do something?

"What do you want me to do?" I ask her.

"I only want you to do it if you haven't done it yet," she says. "Have you seen the film, _The Sixth Sense?_"

"No. Why do you want me to watch it?" I haven't watched a movie since… oh, God, I don't know. Since forever.

"I think you can relate to the plot and characters. It may help you figure out how to cope with the monsters you're seeing. It's all very similar to the movie."

Now she's comparing my situation to a movie? I highly doubt a movie can help me with anything. I don't even think she's taking me as seriously as she should. "Wait, so, I have to go out and buy it or something? You're not gonna pull a screen out of the ceiling, turn out the lights and play the damned thing?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't own the movie. Find it on cable or rent it. That's all I suggest."

"Why can't you just tell me the end of the movie and call it a day?"

"It doesn't work that way. You have to see for yourself." Yes, I have to see primped out Hollywood actors try to pretend they know what it's like to see, hear and feel such things.

I'll humor her. I'll make some popcorn, mix it with Skittles and watch it. "Okay. I'll watch the movie. Thanks, doc. See you next week."

"Have a good day, Tweek." _Have a good day, Tweek._ I'm afraid I can't fulfill that suggestion.

I leave the room to find my mother sitting in the waiting room reading a magazine, legs crossed. She looks distant and uncaring; like usual. "Let's go," she mumbles, not even asking how my session went. Why don't I start a conversation for a change?

I'm in the passenger's seat, my mom driving stiffly like a robot of some sort. "Dr. Thorton told me to watch a movie," I said. "_The Sixth Sense_. Have you ever seen that movie?" I'm positive the answer will be 'no'.

"No, I haven't seen that movie. What's it about?" She's pretending to be interested.

"I'm not quite sure. Dr. Thorton said I should watch it because I can relate to it and it might help me."

"That's a little unprofessional. Isn't she supposed to prescribe you medication?" Turns out my mom just can't wait to put me on the meds.

"I think she knows what she's doing. She'll give me the meds when I'm ready, I guess." You would think someone like me should be put on medication as soon as possible—apparently, Dr. Thorton doesn't think so. "So, um, can we go rent it or something?" I'm pretty sure the answer to this will be 'no' as well.

"No, Tweek. The nearest video rental store is an hour away and I don't have any cash on me. Why don't you ask your father?" Fuck my dad.

"Well, uh, okay." I can find some other way to watch this movie.

* * *

"Tweek! Hey, Tweek!" Who the fuck is acknowledging me? "Tweek, turn around! Over here!" May as well follow orders. I turn around and Craig's arm is waving around in the air, calling me over to his lunch table.

Wait, what the fuck?

"Tweek, take a seat over here. We got room!" Craig motioned to an empty spot between him and Token.

"Uh, hi. W-what's up?" I stammer a little bit, but manage to sit down with my lunch without knocking it all over Craig.

"Why is he sitting here?" Heidi whispered to Craig, failing very hard at trying to stay quiet about it.

"Relax, bitch. He's cool," he said to back to her, loudly as he possibly could without sounding obnoxious.

Holy shit, he just said I was cool. At this point, I'm chuckling nervously, twitching a little bit.

"Where'd he come from?" another member of his posse asked. Now they're all staring at me like I'm some kind of wild animal. Why are they looking at me like that? I knew them at some point, didn't I? Like, ten years ago.

"He works at the coffee shop down the street. You know, that homemade place where the old guy rambles on with coffee-related metaphors. I go there when Tweek's working the place, once a week, I'm pretty sure. Right?" Craig turns to me. He's closer to me than he's ever been right now; I'm twitching even worse.

"Y-yeah. I—I work there on Tuesdays. Agh! I—it's my dad's place. He's the metaphorical guy. He'll never shut up. Hehehe—agh!"

"Yo, you okay, man?" Token asks. No, I am not okay. The boy I have a senseless crush on is inches away from my face and I can't help but be a jittery freak.

"Yeah, I—I'm totally fine. It's just that I usually sit alone… and I'm not, you know…" I can't find the words to finish my sentence.

"Socially skilled?" Heidi finishes for me.

"Yeah. That." What am I supposed to do right now? When they all engage in conversation, what am I going to say? Most likely nothing. But the thing is, they _don't_ engage in conversation. They all seem to be intrigued by the subject of me. Did someone put them up to this? Dr. Thorton probably called my school and told the kids to be nice to me so I don't freak out and kill them.

Everyone is still glaring at me, probably awaiting an explanation for my twitchiness.

"I—I'm fine, you guys. Just eat or talk or whatever it is you guys do. J—just pretend I'm not here."

This doesn't earn any responses, as I'd hoped for. After a small amount of minutes pass, Craig turns to me again.

"Heya, Tweek?" My head immediately jerks to his. "You don't have any plans tonight, right?" I shake my head no. "Well, then, you should come to my house or something. We're just gonna watch a movie and be lazyasses and whatnot. Up for it?"

"Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah. You want me to come to your p—place?"

"Yeah, man. You seem kinda isolated. You should come out and hang with some people for once, you know? We'll just watch a movie and pig out on shit."

This is all so sudden. I don't know how to respond—I'd love to say 'Oh, yes! Cradle me in your arms and watch a sappy movie with me, Craigers!'. How do I do that? _You don't._

"What movie were you guys thinking of watching?" I just had to ask.

"I don't know. You can pick it. I got a bunch of DVD's at home. If you come over, you can just look at it and pick."

_There is a God! _Oh, God. I can't even explain my excitement; my facial expression is probably giving it all away, and it probably looks horrendously stupid.

"Yeah, I guess that'll be fun," I say, grinning wildly. "Where do you live? What time should I be there?"

"Just wait outside your dad's shop at around 5 and I'll pick you up there. Alright with you?"

"A—alright with me."

* * *

"Tweek!"

I hear my name being called, by Craig, for the second time today. He pulled over in a big, dark blue gas-guzzling car, and rolled down the window. "Get in the back." Those are the kind of words I'd hear when I'm about to get raped. I'm glad I can trust Craig, although I'm fluctuant about his other friends. They all have the personalities of dead worms.

The car ride is silent, for the most part, but my mind is just running wild. I'm squirming and twitching prominently in the backseat, but the other kids don't say anything. They're probably thinking why the fuck Craig invited me to see a movie with his regular posse, or maybe they're trying to figure out why I'm such twitchy queer.

I just can't stop going on about myself and the people around me in my head. I've ciphered that I definitely do _not_ fit in with the Craig clan. Despite the microscopic chance of myself ever being with Craig, if I ever _do, _I know that I don't want the Craig clan to come with the package.

"Tweek, wake up, man. We're here," Craig interrupts my train of thought; I can thank him for that.

His house is surprisingly elegant, peaceful and well-decorated. I guess that's the works of his parents. It's incredibly easy to visualize two-hundred drunken teenagers messing up the sofa cushions and breaking the trinkets surrounding the floral furniture.

There are already six of his friends messing around in the kitchen, plus the kids in the car, that makes twelve of us hanging around Craig's house. He's used to this, I assume. I've never hung around this many people before.

I feel queasy.

"So, Tweek, you still wanna pick a movie?" Craig asks, leading me down to the basement, or entertainment room, whatever it is.

"Why the hell is he even here?" Bebe asks him.

"Relax, whore. Give him a chance." Does anyone hear actually like each other?

"Oh, crap, what?" I ask, tongue-tied. I'm trapped in my thoughts again. "Oh, yeah, a movie. Uhh, let's see. Where's the shelf?"

"Over there." Craig pointed a tall shelf with rows and rows of DVD's. It was right under my nose.

"Oh. Yeah, okay." I looked at the shelf**—**goddamn, what a collection. All of it looked pretty damn good. I stood there for what seemed like ten minutes, just staring at the titles and not even letting them go through my brain.

But the one that caught my eye, because of the familiarity of the name, was _The Sixth Sense._ I knew that it was somewhere in the huge collection. I took it out immediately, tossing it to Craig.

"That one." I said.

"_The Sixth Sense_? You sure?" Craig asked. Wait, was I sure? What if the movie doesn't help me? What if I freak out or something? Dr. Thorton said it would help me… she's one of the few figures I know that I trust.

It's worth a shot.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I've never seen it before, so, yeah."

"You've never seen this? Seriously?" Craig was shocked.

"Nope, never. I—I—I don't watch a lot of movies."

"I haven't seen it in a few years," Token added. "I could see it again."

"Yeah, sounds—SHIT—cool. Good—COCK—choice, Tweek." I gave the kid a weird look that I feel I shouldn't have given him. Then, it just hit me. That's the kid with Tourette's… I think his name was Terrence. No, wait… it was Thomas. Yeah, that was it.

"Well, let's pop this shit in," Craig said.

I plopped on the sofa, as did many other kids. Some laid on the carpet, some were leaning on the wall, and other various movie-watching positions. I imagined this wouldn't last long considering the potential craziness and alcohol influence.

I'm here for two reasons; first reason being Craig Tucker. This is for Craig. I want to spend time with him, whether it be in the presence of other children or not. Second reason: to watch this fucking movie.

Craig popped it in and pressed play. _Pay close attention._

I thought it may be hard paying attention to the movie, because the room was full of teenagers munching on fatty snacks and cracking jokes every once and a while. Very few of us were actually watching the movie. But the other kids weren't that much of a disruption that I couldn't pay attention to the movie.

I wish I hadn't been paying attention; this movie is scaring me.

"_Do you know why you're afraid when you're alone? I do… I do."_

I do too.

"_I don't want to be afraid anymore!"_

Neither do I.

"_You failed me!"_

This guy had no hesitations shooting himself in the head. If I could do that, I would. I've said many times before; Craig. Craig, Craig, _Craig. _The reason I won't _shoot myself in the fucking head._

Dr. Malcolm Crowe—a psychologist, a similar figure to Dr. Thorton. His notes on the child, Cole, were similar to mine; socially isolated, possible mood disorder.

Dr. Crowe plays a game with Cole. A mind-reading game. If what he says is true, Cole steps closer to the chair. If what he says is not true, he steps backward to the doorway.

"_You keep pretty quiet in school. You're a good student, and… you've never been in any serious trouble._

Cole steps back.

"_We were supposed to draw a picture. Anything we wanted. I drew a man. Got hurt in the neck by another man with a screwdriver. Everyone got upset. They had a meeting. Mama started crying."_

Dr. Thorton was right; I can relate to this kid. Something much the same happened to me in the third grade.

We were assigned to write an essay about a favorite dream of ours. I was basically screwed. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't remember the last time I had a peaceful dream of any kind. I'm not creative; I couldn't make something up.

Fables and television shows shoved the concept of 'being myself' down my throat constantly. I made the mistake of actually listening to those repetitive morals. I decided to 'be myself'. I ended up writing the essay about my least favored dream as opposed to my favorite dream—they couldn't fail me for trying. It was graphic, gory, and gruesome. Involving the gnomes. After reading that, they knew I was a fucked up kid. They tried to get me help, but I threw tantrums during every session, so they just took me out of it. That was their mistake. My mistake was not asking for more help when I knew I needed it.

Dr. Thorton may have been right; but did she take into account that this movie may make me twitch? Scream? Panic?

"_Did you talk to your mom about how things are with Tommy?"  
_"_I don't tell her things."  
_"_Why not?"  
_"_She doesn't look at me like everybody else and I don't want her to, I don't want her to know."  
_"_Know what?"  
_"_That I'm a freak."  
_"_Hey. You are not a freak, okay? Don't you believe anybody that tries to convince you that, that's bullshit."_

He's a freak. I'm a freak. _Remember to not believe anybody who tries to convince you that._

I'm twitching in my seat. I know I'm probably annoying the shit out of the people next to me. Craig is two people to my left. I'm praying to every God I know of that he doesn't think I'm a freak.

I'm trying my hardest to stay in place and stay quiet while watching the movie—I manage to get through the next half hour without freaking out. But this one scene… just this one scene, just sliced right through me.

"_I want to tell you my secret now."  
_"_Okay."  
_"_I see dead people."  
_"_In your dreams?"_

Cole shakes his head no.

"_While you're awake?"_

A nod from Cole.

"_Dead people as in… graves? And coffins?"  
_"…_walking around like regular people."_

Not exactly the same situation.

But it's close enough. Close enough to my situation that I burst with, "Agghhhhhh!" I'm screaming, running upstairs and out of the basement. The movie—that fucking movie—just had the biggest, most unexpected impact on me. I see monsters; he sees dead people. What's the fucking difference? We're freaks. We're afraid.

It doesn't occur to me to _leave_ the house. I'm flailing mindlessly around Craig's home, trying to find a safe place to hide, while at the same time I'm trying to avoid all the fragile things on display in his house.

"_Errrrrrrgg!"_

"Tweek? Tweek!" Craig follows after me. What is he doing? He can't see me like this. I'm about to ruin it, just ruin it forever.

"Tweek, what's the matter with you?" I collapse on the nearest sofa, burying my face into the cushions and shrieking into them.

"I… am… afraid." I say in between sobs.

"Afraid of what? The movie? There's nothing to be afraid of, Tweek. It's just a fucking movie. If you thought you couldn't handle the movie, why did you pick it?" I feel his hand resting on my shoulder.

"It's… not… just the movie. It's… just… me! Agghhhhh!" I lift my weeping face from the cushions to face Craig. "I'm just like him! I'm a freak!"

"Just like him? The little dude from the movie? Tweek, if you were like him, you'd be way more fucked up."

"How can I be any _more _fucked up! You don't get it!" I wish he could understand. I know, now, I can never be with him. He'll probably never understand.

"Relax, man. You're not fucked up. Don't let anyone ever tell you that, okay?"

"If I tell myself I'm fucked up, I know I'm fucked up. You wouldn't understand."

"Okay, okay…" Craig calmed down, and he tried to calm me down by putting his hands on my shoulders. This only made me twitch and shake more. "We're going to play a game. Just like in the movie, Tweek. The mind-reading game. I'll sit down, you stand up. If what I say is true, come closer to me. Then you have to tell me what's going on. If what I say is not true, step back. You know the rules."

"O—okay," I managed to get out. He sat down, and I stood in the middle of the living room.

Craig put his fingers to his temples and thought for a few seconds.

"You're uncomfortable about being here tonight."

I took a small step towards him. He thought for another few seconds.

"You were heavily eavesdropping on my ex-girlfriend and I the other night."

I step towards him. I try to make my steps as small as possible, and I'm hoping that he's going to say something that isn't true.

"You see a psychiatrist of some sort."

I took another tiny step towards him.

"You see dead people."

Here, I wasn't know if he was trying to be funny or he was being serious. But, no. I don't see dead people. I see something else, and I don't intend on telling him. I deliberately take a big step backward.

"You don't like my friends."

Step forward.

"You don't like the fact that I'm acknowledging you more than usual."

I stayed still. I wasn't sure about this answer.

"What if the answer is 'unsure'?" I ask.

"Then you can just stay in your spot," he says. He then thinks even more. "You have a disorder of some kind. But you don't know what it is, what it's called or how you can help it."

I take a giant step forward, but still not within the boundaries where I have to tell him my predicament. I'm beginning to give away exactly what I don't want to tell him. And the way he said it—it was so accurate. That's exactly my case, abbreviated into those short sentences. How did he know? Am I that obvious? Or is he just fucking brilliant?

"There is some aspect of love involved with your problems."

I wish he'd just stop right now. It's just getting too creepy, I want to scream. I'm still shaking, but I don't step forward or backward. I'm unsure about this. Or, at least, I'd like to give off the fact to Craig that love is not involved, when it actually is.

"May I have a turn with this game? In your position?" I ask him.

"But we're not done yet."

"I know. Just, um, stay seated. Okay, um, I'm only going to take one turn with this. If what I say is true, you get up, go back downstairs and hang with your friends. I'll leave. If it's not true, you and I keep playing." I am almost positive that the chances of him getting up and of me leaving are huge. I don't want to keep playing this.

"Okay," he agrees.

"You think I'm a freak."

Craig's next action is astounding.

He doesn't get up.


	5. Like a Gunshot

A/N: Holy poop on a stick. I can't believe how long it's been! Almost a month. I came up with four chapters within three weeks or so, but these past weeks, I thought of barely one! This chapter is short. I thought I was on good track since the last chapter had been almost 5,000 words, but this one is just a little over 2,000. But, hey, the best things come in small packages, right? I felt this chapter was necessary. I don't think I did that great of a job on it, but... I'll leave you to be the judge of that. The one thing I fear most right now is disappointing you, dear reader. I think of the readers first. And then I think, 'what would Brian Boitano do?'

Also, this chapter was an ass to type. Because my s key and left shift key don't work at all. I'm using the on-screen keyboard for all my s's, and the right shift key, which I'm totally not used to. It's because I spilled hot tea on it. Grrr.

And dammit, I keep changing the category... WHAT IS THIS? :|

So, to make up for this short chapter and such a long, long, long wait, chapter six will be coming very soon. I'm actually leaving on vacation for four days tomorrow, but I'm bringing my laptop and hopefully I'll find time and inspiration!

Oh yeah, and it's 3:53 am on Christmas Day! I can never sleep Christmas Eve. So, finishing this was a good way to get me tired. You guys have like, no idea how long it takes me to write something as short and simple as this...

Anyway. Enough of my crap. Read! Review! Enjoy! HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

* * *

I stand frozen in my spot. Craig crosses his legs and gives me a look that I can't decipher the meaning of.

"S-so you don't think I'm a freak. How can you _not?_"

"My freak-o-meter isn't very sensitive." He leans back in the chair, arching his back and grinning slightly. I'm starting to get twitchy again. Why? Because Craig looks really beautiful in that position.

Whilst gawking at Craig, I'm pondering what I should say next. _He doesn't think you're a freak._ My palms are sweating. Maybe I should just question him. One thing—just one thing I say can fuck this all up. And one thing I can say can open new doors. I better take this slowly.

"Freak-o-meter?" The answer was witty, no doubt. But was he for real?

"Yeah. I don't really have one, you know, but what I'm trying to say is that you'd have to be really, really, _really _freaky for me to think you're a freak. I haven't met anyone in my life who meets the requirements to be a freak in my eyes."

"Wow, really? Then, what am I to you?"

"You're Tweek. The sweet boy who makes good coffee with a cute smile."

Cute smile? Oh, geez. What can I do? Not smile? Of course; now he's got me smiling like a madman. I even laugh a little bit.

"Yeah, that's it! Haha! I knew there was a friggin' smile in there!" he laughed, leaning back up in his seat.

"So, are we going to keep playing the mind-reading game?" I ask. What kind of a question was that? If I got any closer to him, I'd have to tell him about my nightmares and delusions. I'm not even sure if I should call them delusions; are they real or not?

Maybe this is all happening too fast. I wanted to get rid of them before I ever became associated with Craig. Maybe I just shouldn't be here right now.

"No, no, no, we don't have to keep playing. Unless you really wanna tell me why you're acting so weird," he says, getting up from his chair. I guess it's game over; thank God.

"Umm… no. I don't want to tell you. You—you'd think it's dumb."

"My dumb-o-meter is just as insensitive as my freak-o-meter," he says in a tone that screams 'Tell me, tell me, tell me!'

"N-nope. There's nothing you can say that'll make me tell you." There's still a smirk on my face from the leftover laughs.

"Nothing I can say, huh?" Craig approaches me with a sneer. Uh-oh, he's going to do something… he's going to—

"_AHHH! Hahahahahaha!" _He violently tackles me against the sofa, tickling my ribs and stomach.

"Aaaahahahahah! Oh my God! Oh my God! Stop, stop, stop, man! I can't fucking breath!" I'm frickin' flailing all over place, throwing scissor kicks up in the air around Craig. I'm trying my hardest not to kick him in the stomach, but I can't help it! How the hell did he know how ticklish I am?

"Will… you… tell me now?" he says, tickling lower around my hips and legs.

"Never!" I cry, almost seriously. I want to tell him, I really want to. But I can't.

And I really want him to stop tickling me. But at the same time, I don't want this to end.

"Come on, Craig! You're… gonna… kill me!" Seriously, I swear I was going to pass out from laughter.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop!" He lets go of my torso and fell backward next to me. The only sound I can hear is the sound of the two of us panting heavily. I looked over at him. His flat chest moved up and down in such a perfect manner, his long body sprawled across half the couch. He then careened upwards, still breathing heavily. His eyes still gleamed despite the dim lighting of the room.

He inched closer to my face and body. He then gripped my panting body and pulled it to his, completing the motion with an amorous kiss.

It was the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced.

He guided me through the whole thing—he must have known that I wasn't skilled in this department. He was like a fucking artist with his tongue.

How did he know I wanted this? _It's called chemistry, my good child._

I held the back of his neck, trying to make this kiss last as long as possible. It feels great. It feels magical. And when the time comes, it stops.

He breathes on my neck and rests his head on my shoulder. The moment is quiet and serene. No beasts, no monsters here. It's just Craig and I.

_

* * *

_

_Things are flying, beasts are following, you are falling. The sound of your screaming and weeping creates consistent ringing in your ears only, and not of the beasts'. The fall is endless, or so it seems; the dark pit fades out of its pitch black state. The bottom appears to be a silver color. The image becomes clearer; it is barbed and excessively serrated. Before you can cry for help, although help is chimerical, the jagged surface rips right through you. Blood flies in every direction, but your consciousness remains intact. When you look up, you see nothing but bloody grins and gargantuan, black eyes. They are the ones holding the barbed wire, knives, chainsaws and razors. They inch closer to your body, which is gushing blood through dozens of gashes. Your pain to them is satisfying, your screeches are terrifying. _

_The entire scene breaks. The bloody grins are gone, but you're still shedding the vital fluid. _

* * *

My body shoots up as fast and hard as a gunshot, throwing Craig off my shoulder. My throat aches from the high-pitched screech I let out. I scan the room for anything out of the ordinary, but my attention is drawn to Craig, who is slowly easing awake. It's a surprise how peacefully he can wake when I just screamed so loud.

"Tweek?" he yawned and smacked his lips. "What's wrong? You screamed like a fucking little girl."

I tried to look him in the eyes, but I felt weak, like I wanted to pass out again. I feel deeper in between the cushions of the sofa. My eyelids fluttered downwards, and began to leak tears.

"Make them go away, " I whispered. That's the only thing that was on my mind. _Make them go away._

"What? Make what go away? Tell me what's going on," he demanded. "You seem so scared."

"I am," I meekly nodded. He came closer to me and put his hand on my shoulder. I looked back up at him, vision blurred from the tears. My vision began to focus, then catching sight of something behind Craig. It was absolutely hideous. I thought I was safe here; I thought they couldn't find me here. One of them, if not more behind the fucking thing, is looking me straight in the face.

It looked at me with a sickening grin. It had at least fifty scars across its face, some dripping blood.

I sat there wide-eyed for what seemed like fifteen minutes. It came closer.

"Hey, man, if there's something you gotta tell me, just lay it on me. I'm here for you, dude," Craig said. I didn't respond. He began the shake me. "Dude! Dude, what're you looking at?" He looked in the direction of the monster, the direction that I was staring in. My stomach dropped.

"I don't see anything," he said. _He doesn't get it_.

"D-don't make a sound. Don't move another muscle," I whispered to him. I dug my nails into Craig's shoulder blades.

"Ow," he mumbled. "Is there—"

"Don't speak. It'll come… towards… us."

I closed my eyes and pulled Craig towards my body as fast as I could without panicking. Tears dripped onto his shoulders. I whispered into his ear, "Is it gone?"

I felt childish. I knew he thought I was being childish. I knew he had no idea what I was talking about.

I let go of my grip of him. My eyes were still shut.

"Yeah… it's gone… whatever it was." If he doesn't know what it is, how does he know it's gone? Why did I ask him? _He's the only soul you trust around here._

I opened my eyes and it, whatever it was, was gone.

"Now you'd better tell me what's going on. Why are you crying? You're seriously scaring me." _I'm_ scaring _him?_

Should I tell him? Would he believe me? What'll happen if I do? _Too much pressure!_

"Um…" I started with. "I'm a… wreck. I… just… I—I don't know how I can explain this to you."

"Keep it simple. I'll understand, I promise." _He promises._

"Dr. Thorton calls it schizophrenia. She calls me delusional. I call it Hell." Simple enough?

He paused. It looked like he was thinking about what I'd just said. Nothing else in the world mattered more than what Craig was about to say next. I just came out and told him.

He's not gonna understand, is he? He probably knows nothing about these kinds of things. Oh, geez! Am I calling him stupid?

"Wow," he said, falling deep into the cushions as well. "How could I have not guessed…"

"D-do you know about it?" I asked.

"A little."

He knows a little about it. That's good enough. I try to change the subject from here.

"What about your friends downstairs? What are they doing? How long did we sleep for? Gah!"

"A few of them are probably out like lights… they'll go home when they feel like it. I'm not driving them."

"Oh… um, can you drive me home? It's like… one in the morning. I was supposed to be home at eleven, my folks are probably worried sick… gah!" If he's not driving his own friends home, what makes me think he's going to drive me home?

"Uh, sure."

"I think I've overstayed my welcome anyway. Right? I wasn't a burden, was I? I bet I was… what with all my screaming and uncontrollab—" Luckily enough, Craig cut off my thought-spilling with a kiss. Our second kiss. Everything felt okay for just a few moments.

"Don't worry. I'll take you home. And we need to talk more in the car. Get your coat."

When we got inside the car, the temperature was lower than it actually was outside. "Fuck, it's cold… so, dude…"

"What?" I asked. I emphasized the 'h', making it sound like, "hhhuuhhwhat?" I did that just so I could see more of my breath in the cold air. I've always loved to do that, for some reason.

"Your schizophrenia. Is it, like, brutal?"

"Gah! Fuck yes! " I immediately responded. "I can hardly live with it... it…schizophrenia." I paused, thinking about this 'schizophrenia' thing, if that's what this Hell is really called. I continued, "I was one degree away from fucking killing myself."

"You _were?_" he sounded shocked. "What stopped you?" He asked this in a tone that meant he was concerned, thankfully not in the tone that meant, 'Why didn't you? You should have!'

But the question hit me again. _What stopped you? _Craig. Craig stopped me, before we even spoke. Now, we've shared two kisses and he's driving me home. Every moment I'm with him, the suicidal thoughts grow farther away.

But should I tell him that? The angel version of myself on my shoulder is telling me I should, but the annoying devil version on my other shoulder is telling me to lie to him. I brush that devil motherfucker off.

"You," I said. "You're the reason I don't want to kill myself."

He stopped the car. Not just for dramatic effect, but we came up to a red light.

He stammered, and said, "No one's ever said anything like that to me before."

"What do you mean?"

"What else _could_ I mean, Tweek? I mean… that's really deep, I'm serious. Like… like…" It seemed like he couldn't find the words. "What did I do?"

What _did _he do?

"It wasn't quite something you did, it was more like, someone you are," I said. "Your optimism, your unique view of the world… the way you act around your friends, in class, whatever. It's your person that makes me want to keep living. It's your person. The person that I… I love." The words spilled out so naturally. For once, it felt great to let something out. I've wanted to tell Craig this for the longest time.

I hope that was a subtle enough way to say 'I love you'.

I looked at Craig to see his facial expression. I couldn't see it. His head was pressed against the backs of his hands, which were tightly gripped on the steering wheel. I also realized we'd just arrived at my house. I wasn't getting out of the car until I got a response.

His head swiftly came up, and he looked straight ahead. He turned to me and blinked a few times.

"I think… I think…" What does he think? What the fuck does he think? "I think I love you too."

That's what he thinks. He shouldn't think that; he should know that.

"You think you do? Or do you know you do? …Or don't?"

"I… I… know."

"Know what?"

"I know. I love you."


	6. Risperidal

* * *

A/N: Let me just start off by saying that I really love this chapter. I also want to start off by saying HAPPY NEW(ish) YEAR, EVERYONE! Thanks for your amazing reviews, I loved reading them. :) I've made a goal to recieve a total of at least 50 reviews before this story is finished (don't worry, it's not even close to being finished) so please help me achieve that goal!

Also, just so ya knows, I did a **_shitload_** of research to do this chapter. It probably doesn't even look like it, but I wiki'd and I googled until I could wiki and google no more. I even MTV'd a little. :O I apologize if something here is far-fetched or makes absolutely no sense. I'm not a psychologist or pharmacist, but I try damn hard to be!

Special thanks to _Imajinacion, _who I've become good friends with the past few days, for giving me feedback on the story when I needed it and always supporting this story!

Enjoy!

* * *

"_I know. I love you."_

His words were solid. He had that look in his eyes that reassured me that he meant what he said. And oh, my _God_. How fantastic it felt to hear those words.

Craig Tucker just told me he loves me. My stomach turns, but I can't tell if it's from nervousness or that little thing called Love.

I can see from the corner of my eye that he's looking at me this time, and I'm staring out the windshield. Something is different with this scenario: I'm not shaking. When I say,

"Kiss me."

I don't stutter, I don't hold back. Because this is what I want, and I know he wants it too. We lean over and let our lips meet intimately. There's a sudden tingle between us. I feel that there was a hole where someone should be, and now, it's filled. Craig's silhouette fits perfectly into that empty spot.

The feeling is tremendous. Have I mentioned how great it is to kiss him? Because it's wonderful. If only I could have this every day of my life.

His tongue fights with mine for what seems like an hour, but it was only forty-nine seconds before I fucked things up.

Way to ruin a moment, Tweek.

You've really outdone yourself this time, Tweek.

I sneezed all over him. Shit, shit, shit on a stick.

"Fuck!" I screamed, burying my face in my sleeve. "I'm so sorry! Erg! Dammit!" From here, I sprinted out of the car, running away from Craig. Again. I can only go so far when we're parked right outside of my house. I stop at my front door, collapsing to the ground in front of it.  
How could I have messed things up like this? Only I can fucking pull this off. The moment was going so well, it was everything I had ever dreamed of. _Bad choice of words there, kid_. It just doesn't surprise me that I can fuck it up so quickly. Maybe God doesn't want me to be with Craig. Maybe Craig doesn't want to be with me. _God probably does hate you, anyway._

"Tweek!" Craig calls out, running out of the car and towards me. I still melt every time he says my name. "Why do you always run away like that?" I hear the sound of his steps on the snow coming closer. I looked up at him. His face was a blur, but he looked calm. He bent down, his eyes now level with mine. He lifted his hand to my face and wiped a tear. He leaned in and lightly kissed me, but I couldn't find it in me to kiss back.  
"Why are you crying?" he asked me.  
"I... I sneezed on you," I replied, in the stupidest way possible. _Fucking drama queen.  
_"So?"

I brought both hands to my own hair, tugging it hard. "Erg! Why am I always so goddamn paranoid about what I do around you? And about what you'll--gah! Think about me?! I fucking love you, Craig Tucker! And why do I keep convincing myself that you don't love me back? Gah! I need--gah! I need... to know what it is exactly you like about me!" I practically screamed at him. "Are you into freaks? Because I'm a freak. I hear fucking voices, and I see these fucking things, and only God knows what the fuck they are! We can't go on while I'm like this! They're going to kill me! Or... or they're trying to get me to fucking kill myself!" I slam my head on my screen door, breathing in and out harshly. Craig puts his hand on my shoulder.

"Of course we can go on while you're like this. Our relationship will be strong and nothing will get in our way, alright? Those things won't get you when you're with me. I'll... I'll protect you."

"Gah!"

"Those bastards ain't got nothin' on us, Tweek."

I stand straight up on my feet to look him in the eyes. He's serious. I know he is. He looks at me with those comforting, dark eyes of his and smiles warmly. I smile back.

"I love your smile," he said.

"Is that the only reason why you love me?"

"I can make of list of reasons why I love you."

"Craig... I... I have a question."

"What's that?"

"Have you ever been... truly... in love? In, in love? Like, in... In love? Is this real?" More stupid drooling out of my mouth, more confused words about what's real and what's not.

"I haven't been in love until tonight."

My eyes widen in disbelief. Then they narrow down slightly as I wrap my arms around his shoulders, burying my nose in the crook of his neck. I grin the grinniest of grins into his neck.

"Be my boyfriend?" Craig whispered.

I'm surprised he'd even have to ask. Without removing myself from his body, I nod. He gently lifts me off and pecks me on the lips.

"Go inside. You need sleep." I nod again as he walks away.

"Goodnight, Craig!" I say, loud and lovingly.

He stops in his tracks and makes a three-quarter turn. "Goodnight, Tweek."

* * *

Saturday and Sunday pass with nightmares and fuck-ups. I slept 90% of the time, and every time I woke up, I thought about Craig. Sunday night, I thought about the way he never called me. There's no way he could have, anyway, considering I never gave him my phone number and he never gave me his. I'm pretty sure he already has a cell phone. Here I am, seventeen, with no cell phone. I don't blame my parents for not giving me one, since I can't use them for shit. I'd have to give Craig my landline, and then my parents would end up answering, and then they'd wonder why the hell another boy is calling me.

Monday comes around again. Of course, none of my school assignments are finished and not a single bone in my body gives a fuck.

Carelessly strolling through the cluttered halls of South Park High, a familiar hand grabs my shoulder.

"Gah!" I'm turned around and pulled into a kiss. I immediately pull away. "Craig!" I whisper-screamed. "Not here! There are... people." Craig glares at me, distressed. Very few pairs of eyes are fixed onto us. Some of them are probably wondering why one week I spill lunch on him, and one week we kiss. I'm hoping none of them find this out of the ordinary, what with Stan and Kyle sucking each other's faces off whenever given the chance. This is South Park, after all.

This excuse isn't good enough for me. And the excuse 'there are people' isn't working for Craig, either. He keeps that same distressed look, without saying a word. I sigh.

"I... I... I'm not ready to come out, yet."

"But I'm already out." Craig points out the obvious.

"I know, I know... Cr-Craig? Can we just keep this on the down low until I'm, you know, ready?"

Craig smiles lightly and nods. "Yeah."

"Thanks."

He walks away from me, pinching my ass on the way. I let out a small squeal, then giggling to myself. Only Craig can make me do that.

* * *

Another six o'clock on a Monday, another session with Dr. Thorton. This time, my dad drives me. My dad and I used to talk all the time. He used to make jokes (most of which were regarding coffee) and he used to ask me how my day went, every day. Even if I didn't tell how my day went, or if I didn't laugh at his jokes, or even call him out for his run-on metaphors; it still seems as though he cared about me. And now, I can't remember the last time we had a real conversation.

We pull up to the building. I get out and walk deliberately faster than my dad to enter the office. As soon as I walk in, I see Dr. Thorton standing beside the entrance to the session room, with her clipboard. I followed her in and plopped down on the mushy sofa. I just wanted to get this over with.

"How are you?" she asked me plainly.

"I can say that I'm doing better," I replied, thinking about Craig.

"Hm? How so?"

"Craig is my boyfriend now," I tell her openly, grinning ear to ear.

"Splendid. Tell me now, Tweek, have you... been hearing or seeing anything? Voices or hallucinations lately?"

I dropped everything Craig-related in my brain. My grin fades. "Um... yeah. I've been hearing shit lately, like, that one ugly voice that brings me down on everything. He, or... whatever it is is probably trying to get me to kill myself, by just bringing down my self-esteem, like it isn't low enough already. That's just one thing. And in addition to that, my nightmares are getting more violent every night... like, when I slept with Craig..."

"You slept with Craig?" she interrupted me, shocked. But she still manages to keep her calm, shrink-like nature.

"No, no, not that way. I was at his house, and we just fell asleep on each other... and while I was asleep, I saw myself falling... I'm always falling. I fell into this pool of... sharp things. Like, knives and chainsaws. There were these ugly things holding them up, too. When I hit them, I could actually feel the sharp ends ripping through my flesh, and..." I trail off. "Well, when I woke up, Craig woke up too, and, um, I saw one of those things in his house. A gory thing and it looked like... it wanted to hurt Craig, more than it wanted to hurt me. Wha... What if they're after Craig?" I look away from Dr. Thorton and think for a second or two. That thing was hungry for Craig, and Craig didn't even knew 'it' existed.

"What do you mean 'they're after Craig'?"

"Maybe they're going after the one that I love most, to get me pissed and all depressed. If I'm depressed, then I'll get all suicidal, like they want me to be, so then I'll die and probably join them in Hell," I say, jumping to conclusions.

"Don't be ridiculous." Isn't that what this whole thing is? Just goddamn ridiculous?

She put down her clipboard and rose from her seat. "I'll be right back."

"Okay."

A few minutes later, she arrives with papers in her hand.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Your prescription. Go with your mother or father to pick up the medication at your local pharmacy." Finally. The fucking meds come in. I'm so grateful right now that the coffee shop business makes just enough money to afford health insurance, what with the Harbucks chain growing rapidly around South Park.

"Okay. Thanks. Th-These will help me for sure, right? I don't have to... be scared anymore?"

"It will definitely help a lot, if you take the correct amount of doses consistently..." She then went on with a bunch of psychiatric crap I couldn't follow. I was about the take the prescription papers out of her hands, but she pulled them away. "I'll give these to your father."

We left the session room just as my dad walked through the entrance holding a cup of Harbucks coffee. I thought it was ironic that he'd buy coffee from our... rivals, I guess, but it was right down the block, so I guess it was convenient. He handed the cup to me.

"I thought you might need some," he said, putting the warm cup into my hands.

"Er, thanks," I said.

"Oh, Dr. Thorton. Is that the prescription?" he asked, drawing his attention to the shrink.

"Yes." She put the paper in his hands. "Go straight to the pharmacy and pick up the medication."

"Thank you very much, Dr. Thorton," Dad said.

"Oh, you're very welcome."

"D... Dr. Thorton?" I squeaked, inching closer to her. "Um, before we go, I wanted to let you know that I watched the Sixth Sense..."

"And did it help?"

Oh, shit. I don't even remember how it was supposed to help me. How was I supposed to tell her I freaked out halfway through the movie, and ran frantically around Craig's house?

"Yeah," I lied. "Thanks, again."

Dr. Thorton smiled. "You're welcome. Have a good night, Tweek."

I gave her a slight nod and followed my dad out the door. I slipped into the front seat of the car, sipping my Harbucks coffee slowly. It was fresh, and damn hot.

"Tweek, where were you Friday night?" Dad asked me, out of the blue. I almost choked on the coffee.

"Um, uhhh..."

"You told us you'd be out until eleven. You weren't home for hours and we were worried sick. What time did you get home? Where were you?"

What made me laugh a little on the inside was the fact that they didn't stay up all night to wait for me to get home. They just fell asleep and hoped I'd poof there in the morning.

I'm contemplating whether I should just lie or not. There's nothing to lie with, and there's no reason to lie, is there? I was just at a 'friend's' house. That wasn't a lie.

"I w-w-was at a f-friend's house."

"Which friend?"

"Gah! Kyle!" It slipped out. In my subconscious, I knew my dad wanted to hear a familiar name. I was pretty sure he barely knew Craig, and if he knew anything about him, it'd be that he was a troublemaker in school. "I-I-I fell asleep there without knowing the time! I was exhausted and didn't wake up t-till one in the morning. S-So Kyle drove me home. It was n-nothing big, I swear."

"Kyle drove you home. Does he have a license yet?"

"Gah! YES!" I honestly didn't even know if Craig had a license. It didn't matter to me one bit, though.

"Mhm," was the last thing he said to me before we pulled into the pharmacy parking lot. It was dark and cold outside, like usual. I was shivering in the cold more than usual, though. It's probably because I'm... apprehensive. I'm about to be put on medication that I probably should've been prescribed almost a decade ago.

Walking with stiff legs into the pharmacy, I'm wondering what the side effects of this will be. I'm trusting that Dr. Thorton prescribed me something that wouldn't fuck up my life more than it already is.

My dad practically slammed the papers onto the counter, probably still pissed that I came home late and worried him to death Friday night. Ugh.

I almost fell asleep. Papers were signed, questions were asked. And now… we have to wait. Sixty minutes. _You have time to sit and think now. _I don't want to think. _Ever? _No, not… ever. I'd rather just keep my mind… blank right now. _Both you and I know that's impossible. _It won't be impossible after I take these meds. _Do you remember how I told you that you should lay off the drugs? _No. _That still applies right now. _I don't have to fucking listen to you. _You have no choice. _I do have a choice. I can choose to overdose on this shit and get you the fuck out of my head. STOP fucking around with me! You're the reason I want to kill myself sometimes! _You may want to kill yourself, you may need to kill yourself, you may _have _to kill yourself. I'm not held responsible for whether you end up dead before the end of the night or not. _

"Bullshit!" I cry out loud, yanking my hair. "You're just trying to fucking talk me into it! Shut _the fuck_ up!"

Curled up in the cramped chair, I bury my face in my knees and shriek.

_Did I kill some time for you?_

"GAHHHH!" My ear-piercing screams fill the empty pharmacy. Dad stares at me like he doesn't know who I fucking am. And you know what? He doesn't.

Sixty minutes go by fucking fast when you hear voices and see things.

My dad gestures for me to come over to the counter, and I'm handed a pack of pills. The drug is called Risperidal. I slip the array of pills out of the sleeve-box-thing. They're a pastel yellow-ish color.

"How many do I take a day?" I ask.

"It's 1mg, so you can start by taking two daily. Within the next few days, you can slowly increase it by taking six daily," said the pharmacist.

"Uh, okay. Thank you."

* * *

1mg? Whatever the fuck that means. I read the back of the sleeve-box thing for side-effects… anxiety, insomnia, low blood pressure, muscle stiffness, tremors, increased salivation, and stuffy nose…

Fuck.

How fucked up am I that I think I should take more than two of these? I put the box underneath my dim, flickering lamp, to read the even smaller font for overdose warnings. It says, reported symptoms of Risperidal include drowsiness, rapid heart rate, shakiness and uncontrollable body movements (been there, done that), seizures, and…

Loss of life.

Well, then. Thanks for scaring me, Risperidal. But if I took just _one _extra, I guess the first stage of overdose is drowsiness… it could maybe help me sleep. And if this is supposed to make me any less of a freak, I should sleep in peace tonight. I popped three tablets out of the foil. Swallowing…

One…

Two…

Three…

Ah, what the hell. Four.

_Crash._

* * *

My eyelids… won't… fucking… budge. Ugh, shit. _That's what you get when you pass out for almost twenty hours. _Twenty hours? When my shoulders and neck crack from their stiff and uncomfortable position, my eyelids open along with them. My vision is blurred again. It takes them sixteen seconds to focus and clear up to see that the time is 5:02 pm, on a Tuesday.

Son of a bitch.

"Son of a _BITCH!" _I slam my head into the bedpost, making my throbbing headache turn into an earthquake in my head.

How could I have possibly slept for twenty hours? Is there anything else wrong with me? Am I having a seizure? Have I died and gone to Hell?_ You were close. _Close? What do you mean 'close'? _Go figure._

I groggily walk from my bed to the mirror, to stare myself in the face. It sure as Hell doesn't look like I slept for twenty hours. I _look _like Hell.

I grab the pack of Risperidal from the dirty carpeted floor and chuck it across my room.

"FUCK!"

_Aren't you forgetting something? _

"What? What do you want NOW?"

_You have work to do._

"Wha—" Augh, shit. Coffee… and… Craig.

I throw on shoes, and a jacket, not even bothering to change my clothes. I burst through my front door, raced to the coffee shop and plunged through the glass door of the shop, making the chimes at the top of the door hinge chime vigorously. Craig was already there, no one else in the room. I think he came just to see me.

"Craig," I said. He turned around, with a concerned look on his face.

"Tweek!" he exclaimed, hugging me and giving me a sweet kiss on the cheek. "I didn't see you in class today."

"Oh yeah, that's because…" I trail off. _Because you overdosed on schizo-pills and slept for a day._

"Goddammit, shut up!" I shout into mid-air.

"What?" Craig looked confused.

"Oh, it's the… the…" Craig put a finger to my lips, instead of his own lips.

"Shhh. I know, I know. I'm sorry." He looked at me sympathetically, and I gave him my best I'm-not-perfect-but-I-still-love-you look.

"So… coffee?" I offered, tying a skimpy black apron around my waist.

"Sure, why not?" he said, while kissing my lips. "Mmm. You taste like coffee."

Funny I taste like coffee after sleeping twenty hours without brushing my teeth. I guess the taste is just permanent. I giggle.

"So, seriously, why weren't you in class today?"

"Slept in." Ain't that the truth.

"'Til when?"

"'Til… literally, ten minutes ago."

"The fuck?"

"Woke up at like, five, and then I ran here."

"Why'd the fuck you sleep 'til five, Tweeks?" he asked almost seriously. The question had a humorous tone to it, because of that little nickname of mine he threw in.

Tweeks. Aww.

"Well, since you called me Tweeks, I'll tell you why." I leaned in closer to his face. "Last night, I got my new medication. Fucked me over real bad."

"Really? The meds knocked you out for that long?"

"Mhm."

"How much did you take?"

"…more than I should have."

"Did you get high?"

"No!" I exclaimed. "It's the exact opposite. These drugs are supposed to _stop_ hallucinations."

"Right. Just be careful, Tweeks. I don't want you to be cheesing off that shit."

Cue the laughter. "I'll be careful. I want to get better. _For you_," I said, and I gave him that look in my eyes that reassured him I meant what I said.

* * *

A/N: Okay, I REALLY didn't want to end it there. I had some more planned for the end of this chapter, but I guess it'll end up being the beginning of chapter 7! I kind of liked the way the end of this chapter tied in with the first line of this chapter, so I kept it like this.

Reviewreviewreview please! :)


	7. Game of Life

**A/N Warning: Sex, some violence, and point of view switches. **

The story has been bumped up to M for this chapter. :O

It's long, too. Longest chapter so far. Hope you guys like it, because this took a lot of thinking. Not that it wasn't fun, because it was my favorite chapter to write. I packed as much as I could into it because A) I want to keep you entertained, B) I probably won't be able to write the next chapter for a while, because I have a shitload of projects and exams and C) I wanted to.

Pleeease review! :) I am very close to my goal of 50. All I ask is that you help me achieve that goal. Thank you all for the reviews you've given me up to this point, it really means a lot to me.

Enjoy!

* * *

Craig put his soft hand on my quivering one, holding it still. His hand was warm and nourishing. I gaze into his faint, gorgeous greens as he gives me a smile. He lowered his head to face our hands on the counter. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he looked a bit nervous.

His head jerks back up, his unsure look matching mine. He then smiled again.

"Really? I mean… I like you the way you are." His statement ended with a chuckle.

"You like me as a little freak? Can't imagine why."

"I mean, for how long have you had this… illness? Even if I weren't around, you'd still want to get better, right?"

"Yeah, I probably would. B—But I'd have no reason to. They'd still fuck with me, and scare me shitless—"

"So? I mean, it must be pretty much Hell, right? Why wouldn't you want to get rid of it? You should get better for yourself, not for me. I mean, that's basically…"

How many times has started his sentences with the phrase 'I mean' tonight? I find myself just looking at his lips move, not even listening to what he is saying. His lips move fast, and everything that's coming out of them goes through my brain as if it were in some kind of foreign language.

His eyes widen and his eyebrows rise higher, but they quickly lower themselves as his eyes narrow. I wish he'd open them wide again so I could get another glimpse at the distinct green color of his eyes…

"Tweek, are you listening to me?" What? Oh, fuck. I've got to put it on my long-ass list of things to take care of—listen to your boyfriend when he's talking to you.

"Y-Yeah, of course."

"No, you weren't. You were totally fucking lost."

"Hm? Oh, yeah. I t-tend to get lost. What were you saying?"

"I was _saying_ that you shouldn't just take the drugs and try to get better just for me. The only person more important than me in your life, or anyone else in your life, is _you._" He poked my chest on the word 'you', making me giggle a little bit. Goddamn, I'm ticklish everywhere.

But… he has a point. He really does have a fucking point.

"If I were you, I'd be caring even more about myself than anyone else. You ever played the Game of Life? Not that bullshit boardgame where you discover planets at the draw of a card and have kids every time you turn a corner. The real Game of Life. You're playing it right now. The whole object of the game is…"

"To not die," I finish for him.

"Wha—Well, I guess you could put it that way…"

"What happens when I win the Game of Life?"

"No one knows. Some people say it's love, some say it's money."

"Do you think it's a person?" I ask, grinning.

"If that's the case, then I think I've already won." And _that_ was the quote of the year.

He leans over and kisses my cheek, then lowering down slowly to kiss beneath my jawbone. Before I can return any kisses to him, the chimes at the front door chimed somewhat harshly. A boy with jet-black hair stumbled in, his arms and head drooping. He was shivering and his shoulders were covered in thick, wet, white flakes. He looked sad… No, more than that. He looked devastated.

I don't know why I hadn't anticipated another customer coming in. Craig had immediately pulled away from me at the sound of the chimes.

The boy meekly approached the counter.

"Um, what can I get for you?" I ask. The boy lifted his head, his eyes drooping to match the rest of his body. He pushed his hair out of his red, puffy eyes. The boy was Stan Marsh.

"W-Woah! Stan, dude… a-are you alright?"

"Give me a regular coffee… with lots and lots and lots of sugar. Lots of sugar. So much sugar that it would kill a diabetic person like Kyle." His tone on the name 'Kyle' told me he was even more than devastated. He was furious, too.

"What happened, man?" Craig asked.

"K-Kyle. H—h—he… br—broke up wi—with me!" he shouted, breaking down in tears on the counter.

I was fixing Stan his coffee as Craig forced Stan's head off the counter.

"Look at me, man," Craig said sternly. "You ever play the Game of Life? Not the boardgame. Your life. You're playin' it, right?" Stan nodded, sniffling.

"Well, you're playing it _wrong!_ Go on! Get the fuck outta here! Go get him back!"

This is why I love Craig. Not because he's basically throwing a customer out of my dad's shop, but because he encourages others to take chances in life.

"Life is filled with experiences! Not excuses!" Craig shouted to Stan. "And how many times has he broken up with you? What is this, the forty-second time? Whatever it is, it looks like you need that boy back in order for you to function. Go on. Get. And take your damn coffee." Right on cue, I passed him the cup and Stan put a bill on the counter.

I then realize this is the second time someone came into the shop right after having a break up.

Stan didn't argue, though. He sipped the coffee that I'd flooded with sugar and stormed out the door to, I assume, get his boyfriend back. The moment couldn't have been more awkward.

"Nice one. You do that often?" I snicker as he turns back around to face me.

"The kid was blubbering like an idiot. He needed to be helped," Craig retorted.

"Y-You sure did a good job… I guess." I lower my head and scrunch my eyes closed, holding in the insane amount of laughter that was building up.

"What? What's so funny?"

I'm now doubled over, letting every last bit of laughter escape from my mouth. And the thing is… I don't really know what was so funny. Something just was.

"The… the… _hahahaha! _The look on Stan's face when you shouted at him like that! Was just priceless! And the way he just fucking ran out like that, obeying your orders! 'Go get him back!'" I mimicked Craig's words. "Hahahaha!"

Craig only chortled, smirking at the fact I was laughing way, way too hard.

"Oh, God…" I took a deep breath. "Fucking crazy." Craig raised a brow at me. I sighed. "I need coffee."

I poured myself a hot cup and circled the front counter, to sit on a tall chair next to Craig.

"Dude, do you know how crazy your hysterical laugh sounds? It's adorable! But at the same time, it like, doesn't match your casual speaking voice. Fucking love it." He kissed me while I still had coffee in my mouth. When he rolled his tongue against mine, he stole some of it.

"Nice and hot," he whispered, still so close to my mouth that it kept the rest of the coffee from falling out of it.

As many times as I've told myself before, I love to remind myself that _this _is what I've been wanting for almost two years. This is what I've been waiting for, and it's one thousand times greater than I ever imagined it would be. Craig is with me, supporting me, loving me, and there's nothing on this planet that will change that.

Just the thought that I was blessed enough for this to finally happen, my hands start trembling. Just as Craig pulls apart from me, my trembling hand touches a burning hot surface, knocking it over the edge of the counter.

"Ahhhh! Ow, _fuck_!" I cry, jumping up off the seat. "Ow! This is so, so fucking hot! Holy shit on a stick!"

I look down on my pants to see where the coffee had done damage. I looked like I pissed myself, all over my khaki corduroys. I stress my neck up from looking at my pants, and see that Craig is now doubled over in laughter.

"Ahahaha!" He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. "Dude! _That_ is fucking priceless! It's all over your crotch!"

"Ugh, dude! It's gonna get all sticky…"

Craig's laughing stops short, and he straightens his body. "Come on. Let's get that cleaned up." I follow him to the small, white tiled bathroom of the shop. He grabs a brown paper towel, wets it and puts on it a droplet of pink liquid soap.

He bends down and begins to rub the most damaged area of my pants. My crotch area. He rubs slowly, then roughly, then slowly again, then he rubs with fast, smooth strokes. And I can't help but moan a little bit.

"Craig…" I breathe. "Don't stop." To my dismay, he stops. But only for a moment. He notices the bulge in my pants.

"Woahhh! What in the world is _that_?" He asks with great enthusiasm. "Looks like we'll have to clean that up, too."

He drops the paper towel. Stands straight up, smashes his lips to mine. He abruptly unbuckles my already-wet pants, yanks down my boxers and clutches my erect cock in his hand. I moan into his mouth. His hand feels so majestic against me.

He repeats the pattern he'd done before with the paper towel. Slow, rough, slow, fast and smooth. I like his style. It's nothing like I had imagined it would be—not to mention his hand is a thousand times better than my own.

I feel that at any moment, I'm going to cum straight into his hand. Some of it would get on the floor, and then I would have to clean it up. Thankfully, the floor was already white itself.

"Come back to my place with me," he whispered. "We can finish our shenanigans there."

I sigh onto him, disappointedly. "I wish I could. B-But I can't. My parents, they'll—"

"Tell them you're studying."

"What?"

"It always works. It's not necessarily a lie, considering you'll be studying _something_." He winks.

I laugh. "Yeah. I suppose I could do that." Craig's eyes light up. "It's closing time, anyway."

I reluctantly re-buckle my pants, and exit the shop. I took the 'We're Open!' sign on the front door off its suction cups, then placing it back on the 'Sorry! We're closed!' side.

"Did you take your car here?" I ask Craig.

"Yeah, but I took my mom's shitty one." He leads me around the corner and through the inches and inches of snow. We fought the wind blowing the opposite direction. He stops at a seemingly beige compact car, kicking some ice off a tire.

"F-F-F-Fucking s-s-s-snowstorm. Th-th-the c-c-c-car's gonna be an i-icebox," he muttered, shivering like mad. When I got into the car, it was a fucking freezer. Craig boosted the heat up on high. The cold air blew onto me.

"D-D-Dude. W-Why is it that when y-y-y-you turn on the h-h-heat, it always starts off c-c-c-colder than outs-s-side?" I ask.

"Th-That's cause it takes air out from outside, and it's f-f-fucking cold outside, so it starts off cold. It n-needs time to w-w-warm up, you know?"

"Ohhh," I reply obliviously.

He turned on the windshield wipers, and they wiped powdery snow off the front of the windshield, leaving clumps of ice on the sides.

The heating was actually beginning to heat. I put my hands over the vent as if it were a fire.

"Warming up yet?" Craig asked.

"Yeah."

"Shame I couldn't take care of that job personally," he replies with a sigh.

"I'd always choose body heat over artificial heat," I say truthfully.

"Amen."

I simply nod after that, though it's doubtful that he noticed, considering he's keeping his eyes on the road. The road is icy and wet, and I can't help but be paranoid. What if he slides off to the side of the road, crashing into a streetlight, causing it to fall over the car, shattering the windshield into billions of microscopic pieces, one of them getting into Craig's eye while I'm completely unconscious and a drunk driver swirls his way into the back of our car, causing it to crunch into a fraction of its size… _Don't jinx yourself._

"Craig? Could you drive a little slower?" I ask nervously.

"Tweeks, if I were going any slower, we wouldn't be moving."

I chuckle at the intended seriousness in his voice. "B-B-But we are stopping at my house first, right? I need a change of clothes."

"Change of clothes? Oh, where we're going, you don't need clothes."

"True. B-but I need my, um, medication. And my schoolbooks for t-t-tomorrow. Not that I'm going use them, b-but… I like to g-give off the illusion that I try."

"Yeah. I get ya."

When we finally get to my house, thankfully without running into any streetlights, Craig stays in the car while I run inside to gather my things. I figure I'm 'sleeping over' tonight.

When I barge in, my mom is cooking in the kitchen. I don't greet her. I just run up the stairs.

"Tweek, what are you in such a rush for?" she yells, probably pretending to care.

I put some extra pants and a t-shirt into a shopping bag. I look around for my untouched schoolbag. It's collecting dust in the corner. Right next to it, on its way to starting a collection of dust, is the pack of Risperidal. I drop that into the shopping bag along with the clothes. I race back down the stairs.

"Where do you think you're going, young man?" asks Mom.

"Studying with my friend," I say. Totally not a lie.

"Who?"

"Kyle." Aw, shit. It slipped out. I ask myself why the fuck I keep telling my parents I'm hanging out with Kyle. I think it's just because out of all the kids my age in South Park, they like him the best.

"Tell him I say 'hello'. You spending the night?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Study hard."

Thank the Lord for oblivious parents. With that, I run towards the car, and plop down next to Craig. My boyfriend, who I will be spending the entire night with. Here's hoping there are no disturbances.

* * *

I arrive at Craig's home, looking around and recognizing the homey living room setting. Those are the stairs I ran up when I got scared watching the Sixth Sense, that's the chair Craig sat in when he played the guessing game with me, that's the couch he and I fell asleep on each other on, and those are the few square yards where there was a monster with a thirst for Craig's blood.

Craig takes me out of my reminiscing trance.

"Follow me," he said. He lead me up the stairs and into his bedroom, locking the door behind us.

I watch in awe as Craig casually undresses himself in front of me. My eyes roam up and down his surprisingly muscular physique. He's left in only his boxers, when he says to me, "What the fuck are you doing just checking me out? Get undressed." An unusual and direct order from Craig, but okay.

Could this be it? Am I losing it? The v-card? To another guy? In all my seventeen years, I had never pictured it to be happening like this. I wonder if he's ever done it before. _Of course he has. _With another guy? _Several. May I remind you his last partner was a girl? He had come into the coffee shop complaining that his girlfriend had accused him of fucking someone else. Clearly, they were nothing but fuck buddies. Maybe you're just another one of them. _No. Craig isn't like that. _Oh, but he is. _Not fucking listening to you. _Oh, but you are. _To Hell with anyone else he's fucked. That'll just make this more enjoyable. He's probably a God in bed. He has experience. And there's something in me that tells me that I'm going to have a shitload of fun tonight, and nothing, nothing, nothing will change that. _Feeling a bit confident, are we? _Yes. Yes we are. And so help me, if you bother me again, I swear I'll… _What? Kill yourself? You'd be losing the Game of Life. _No. I won't let that happen.

"You know what, Tweeks? Come here. I'll undress you for you." Craig's voice takes me away from all the things I have to worry about. I obey the Master's orders and approach him on his well-made full-size bed, that is probably about to be fucked up.

His fingers trace along the line of my jaw, as he kisses me deeply. I'm currently on bottom, where I should belong, while he does all the honors on top. His lips still conjoined with mine, his fingers roam around my neck and collarbone. He finally reaches the first button of my shirt and lets it loose. He loosens my next three buttons, when he stops at an incorrectly buttoned one.

"Classic Tweek," he murmurs.

He continues to loosen my shirt. He rips it off and tosses it to the side, where it will be remaining for a very long time. Our bare chests now touching, heating one other naturally.

He departs from my lips and migrates to take over my ear lobe. He nibbles on that, and it feels incredible. While he's busy there, I'm breathing onto his neck. I decide I should be doing some work here, too, so I gently suck on his neck.

"Mmmm," he moans into my ear. "You're good at this."

His hot breath soothes my ear, the feeling rushing through my entire body. Craig's fingers roam down my waist to reach my belt buckle. He undoes it slowly, building up tension. My pants are finally lowered and kicked off my ankles. I feel my cock growing erect through my boxers, and Craig feels it too. I feel his erection through his boxers, so the only solution is to lose the boxers.

Boxers are lost and nowhere to be found. We rub our groins together, resulting in moans and hot breaths. He sucks on my neck, sucks on it hard. A proud hickie being born.

"This is so, so fucking hot… holy… shit on a stick…" I mutter, repeating words from the spilt coffee earlier. When I think about it, none of this would have happened if I hadn't spilt that coffee.

Craig leans up from out position and grabs what seems to be a bottle of lube and a condom from his bedside table.

"Are you ready for this?" He whispered into my ear.

"Yes. I want this more than anything," I tell him.

With the proper set-up of stretching and lubricating, I knew. I knew that I wanted this so badly. I almost want it as much as I want those monsters to go away.

But I can't think about that right now. I shouldn't think about it. It's impossible to think about. Because, when Craig is inside of me, he pushes every last bit of those thoughts through my ass and out my nose, ears and mouth.

"Craig!" I cry at the top of my lungs. "Oh my _God_! You are my fucking God!"

**Thrust.**

Force.

_Heave._

_Push._

_**Jam.**_

**Lunge.**

_Pierce._

_**Hump.**_

Every synonym for 'Heaven' rushed through my brain. The feeling was magical, psychedelic. Have I mentioned Heavenly? Literal holy fuck.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, he reached his climax.

**Craig's PoV**

There are 1,000 ways to define amazing sex, and this was all 1,000 of them.

I pushed into Tweek with every last bit of energy I had in me. I felt that the condom was gonna break pretty damn soon.

I breathed really hard onto him. "This is as far as I can reach," I say breathily.

"I-I-I thought where you were four minutes ago was as far as you could reach. But," Tweek inhales and exhales. "This is incredible."

"I couldn't agree more," I say, pulling my way out of him. I wish that had never ended. I could have went on for hours and hours. It was beautiful.

Now rested and satisfied, I lean against the bed, Tweek breathing peacefully on my shoulder. He had tangled, after-sex hair, which he pulled off damn well.

I must say that it was some of the _best _sex I've ever had. Some people might think that with all the boyfriends and girlfriends I've had, I must have been fucking them all. But hardly any of them had even made it to that level. I don't feel proud to have been in so many different relationships the past 5 years—not that middle school would actually count. But right now, I know for sure that Tweek definitely is not 'just another one of them'.

**Tweek**'**s PoV**

_You have to stop lying to yourself. Stop lying to the ones you love. No one likes a liar. That's cheating at the Game of Life. _I don't know what you're talking about. I don't lie. I've never lied to anyone I love in my life. _Your parents? _I don't love them. _Harsh words there. I can tell that you're not happy. _I've never been happier. I'm with Craig now. _Sure, you are. But how long until he just lets you go like the rest of them? _Shut the fuck up. I know, for a fact, that Craig would never do that to me. _That's what the rest of them said. _What do you know?

I can't just sit in silence anymore. Fear of silence comes with the Fear of Darkness package. _You also get the Fear of Rejection as a bonus._

"Craig?" I say softly, nuzzling into his neck. "W-Why did you always come to the coffee shop on Tuesdays? And why'd you always bring someone with you?"

Craig looks down at me. "Because I always knew you were there on Tuesdays."

I smile ear to ear. "…but, you always brought someone with you. Why'd you do that?" _He follows a pattern, you see. It's always to coffee shop, and the kisses, and the compliments… it's all the same._

"Why do you think?" he throws at me.

If his mission was to make me jealous, it sure as fuck worked. "To make me jealous?"

**Craig's PoV**

…_you treat everyone the same way. No one is unique to you. They're all robots. Tweek? He's just like the rest. _Like fuck he is. I love Tweek, and there's nothing you can say that will change that, you fucker.

The fuck am I talking to?

_He was jealous that he wasn't in the others' shoes, in your arms. He shouldn't have been jealous. _

"To make me jealous?" Tweek squeaks.

Before I can answer, a loud crash rings in my ears. A crash, then a bang, then a thud. I'm alarmed, but I don't say a word. I look around my bedroom, and nothing seems to have fallen. But there's something near my closet. It's tall, soaked, and not human.

"Oh, Jesus!" Tweek yells, holding me tight. "Did you hear that? Or see that? O-O-Of course y-you didn't hear that… Oh, Jesus, oh, fuck!"

He must be seeing what I'm seeing.

"I don't see anything," I lie. "Or hear anything." _Guess again. _"Relax. None of it is real, okay? You don't have to believe in anything. It's not real. You and me are real." The reality of the thing standing by my closet was terrifying.

What I didn't want to tell him was that I believed in it too.

* * *

We fell asleep quickly, arms still wrapped around one another. My eyes pry open and I look at the bright red numbers glowing in the dark. 7:01. At least we're up in time for school.

I hope to get through the school day forgetting about last night. Not the sex part, I'd never forget that—but that thing. And the voice. Was it just a nightmare? It all seemed so real. I've never been more confused or mortified in my life.

"Tweeks," I mutter, nudging my unconscious, gorgeous boyfriend, "time to go to Hell."

He moans, very similarly to how he'd been moaning last night. He squirms around a bit, and his eyelids slowly part, revealing tired, hazel eyes.

"Morning, beautiful," I murmur, meeting his lips.

"Mmhmmm."

"Get dressed," I say, although I wish I didn't have to.

He reaches for the big plastic shopping bag beside my bed and weakly pulls out the clothes packed. A tiny, square box rolls off the t-shirt.

"What's this? Your meds?" I ask, picking it up and examining it. Risperidal, it's called.

"Y-Y-Yeah. Hand 'em over. I have to take some," he says in a generic just-woke-up-and-I'm-pissed voice.

I toss them into his hands. He drops them. After picking them up, he pops out two and takes them dry.

We skipped breakfast and skipped saying good morning to the 'rents, and I drove ourselves to school. Luckily, the ice on the road hadn't been as major as last night. I'm sure our hot, hot sex melted it.

We don't have any classes together in the morning. Leaving the car and entering the cold outdoors, he and I secretly give a kiss goodbye before going our separate ways. "See ya at lunch," I say.

"S-See you at lunch."

* * *

"_Ahahahaha!" _A familiar and obnoxious laugh makes my head throb. The laugh doesn't stop, it just keeps going. It inhales and starts again. I turn my head to see that the laughing maniac is none other than Eric Cartman.

"Look at this! Look at this! I'm seriously, you guys, I can't stop! I'm fucking dying!" The fatass is the only one standing in a huge crowd of kids, gathered around a lunch table looking at something. I go over to the crowd, leaning over a bunch of kids, but failing to see what they're so excited about.

"Oh, hey! It's the man himself! Craig! How ya doin', man?" Cartman holds his hand up for a high five, but I just give him and his meaty hand a dirty look.

"What's going on here?"

"Oh, you didn't hear? The man-whore is dating the jittery freak! What a crack couple!" Cartman slapped his thigh, breaking down in laughter again. "Doesn't this look familiar to you?"

He hands me a sheet of printer paper that, at first, seems totally blank. Then I flip it over, and see a low quality photo. It looked like it was taken on a cell phone. I looked like… Tweek and I.

"What the fuck is this?" I yell at him. "Where did you get this picture?"

"That good ol' skank Bebe took a picture on her cell phone last Friday night," Cartman told me, gesturing to a giggling Bebe a few seats away. "Don't you guys look cute sleeping on each other? Tweek looks pretty scared. Did you scare him, Craig?"

"You bitch!" I cried towards Bebe. "How could you fucking do this?"

Bebe smirked and shrugged.

Tweek had told me he wasn't ready to come out. I told him I'd wait until he was ready. And now the word is getting out.

"The man-whore's got a new boyfriend! How surprising! Ya fuck him yet, Craig? Have ya fucked him real hard? He must be twitchy in bed too!" Eric Cartman rambled on and on. I could feel my face getting red. _Doesn't he deserve to be punched? I'd say a good wham across the face would teach him a lesson or two. _"How's he taste? Like shitty coffee? I would assume so, considering that shithole place his dad owns can't brew coffee to save a life!" _Your fists are already clenched. What say you put them to good use?_

_**POW!**_

Whammed that bastard right in the face, splitting a lip and shedding blood from his nose. His blood was bright red on my knuckles.

I stare straight down at my right fist, then at the heavy-set kid on the floor in front of me. Fuck.

"Craig!"

**Tweek's PoV**

"Craig!" I call. What the fuck did he just do? I rushed over to the scene, putting a worried hand on Craig's shoulder. I looked at his bloody fist, then down at Eric Cartman. Cartman wasn't unconscious, he looked more… astonished.

"Agh! Douchebag's still got some of those Sumo skills I taught him in third grade," Cartman muttered nasally.

"Craig, w-w-what did you do? What did _he _do? Gah!" I ask and tremble.

"He… He…" Craig lowered his fist. "He was fucking around with me. Ripping on you, and he has a picture of…. Us…"

"What?! How?"

"Bebe took the picture Friday…" he said. "Cartman showed it to everyone. Asshole deserved it."

"Mr. Tucker, come with me, please," Vice Principal Gellar chimed in. "Mr. Cartman, Ms. Chen will escort you to the Nurse."

Craig followed Ms. Gellar to her office without argument. Cartman was lifted off his huge ass, and I was just left there in shock.

Craig isn't the type of guy to get into a fight. Especially not with Cartman. What the hell came over him?

* * *

_That Cartman guy may have gotten what he deserved, but it wasn't enough. _What? _Look, he's inside the Nurse's office right now. You're _right _next to it. Don't you think you should talk to him? _Talk to him? I have no reason to talk to him. _He upset your boyfriend, didn't he? _Yeah… but Craig took care of it. I don't need to barge in and mess up things more than they already are. _He hasn't been taught his lesson yet. _You don't know Eric Cartman. You can teach him every word of the Bible and he'll forget it all, continuing to be his manipulating asshole self. _Every lesson counts. He'll learn it some day, as long as you help teach it to him. _Do you want me to fucking lecture him? _Physical punishment is always the answer. _Hypocrite. You once said physical punishment is never the answer. _Ah, good. So you were listening to me._

I disregard the voice I hate hearing and continue walking my way, wherever my way is leading me. I realize how slow I'm walking when Eric Cartman passes me.

"Cartman! Wait!" I shout. What in the world possessed me to do that?

Cartman stops short in his tracks and turns around. His lip isn't bleeding, but there's a tiny white tissue stuffed up his left nostril. "What do you want, Jew?"

"I'm not Jewish."

"Like it matters. What the hell do you want, twitchy?"

"Come here for a sec. I-I-I need to talk to you privately." _Good job. You're following my directions now, I see._

"What." Cartman raises an eyebrow.

_**BAM!**_

My fist introduces itself to Cartman's left eye. He cups a hand over it and screams, "Son of a motherfucker! Hit by a faggot for the second time today!"

He takes his hand off his eye, and I see that I've left a black and blue bruise circling it.

"Oh Jesus! I'm sorry! I-I had no idea what came over me!" I yell, and run straight for the boys' bathroom. I slam the last stall door hard and whisper to myself, 'What the fuck was that…'

I feel my eyes beginning to leak. I rubbed them hard, trying to keep the tears in. _Can't fight it._

**Craig's PoV**

I hear the last stall slam hard, causing me to jump.

I've just been sentenced to three weeks suspension. For punching a guy and causing him to bleed. I had tried to argue it was for self-defense, but that shit never works. _You can't lie in the Game of Life. You can't cheat, you can't escape the fact that you just disobeyed one of the thousands of rules in this game. Welcome to the Game of Life, Craig. This should be fun._


	8. Freakshow

**A/N: **Hi, guys! I want to start off by saying a few things…

Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews, and helping me exceed my goal of 50 reviews! You're all so awesome. Seriously.

Thanks to my friend Angel (Imajinacion) and my friend Amanda (who has no pen name) for helping me so much to write this chapter! I couldn't have done it without you two. Thanks, Angel, for talking with me so much about, like, everything, and coming up with the amazing idea that you will all be exposed to in a bit. And thanks to Amanda, who barely even likes South Park, for talking on the phone with me for over an hour and a half about this.

I thought about this chapter so much during school, during showers and during the times when I was should have been asleep. This is all for you.

Enjoy, and please keep on reviewing! My next goal is 69, haha. Whoo!

_**

* * *

**_

_**We know that a dream can be real. But whoever thought that reality could be a dream? We exist, of course… but how? In what way? As we believe as flesh and blood human beings, or are we simply parts of someone's feverish, complicated nightmare? Think about it. And then ask yourself, do you live here, in this country, in this world? Or do you live instead in the Twilight Zone?**_

_**--The Twilight Zone, 1961**_

**Tweek's PoV**

Eric Cartman got what he deserved, as did I. The fat boy had told Ms. Gellar about the whack to the face I'd given him, which infuriated her. She felt she needed to suspend me for four weeks for punching him right after he'd just been attacked by Craig. She assumed I was helping Craig 'finish the job'.

"I don't want to see you on school grounds until February 23rd," she had said, staring me down with dark, piercing eyes. Those eyes screamed at me even when there was silence in the office. Her cheekbones were highly defined and doused in pink blush. Her eyelashes batted with clumps of mascara as she continued to eye me. Was she waiting for a response? I wasn't going to give her one.

I stared back at her with merciful eyes. I had that familiar feeling in my stomach—the kind you get when you get in trouble in school. Only it's never been worse than this.

I didn't bother telling her that I couldn't control what I'd done. I couldn't tell her that something else told me to do it.

I found out later that day that Craig had been suspended for three weeks. I didn't see him the rest of the day; we didn't have any more classes together, anyway. I figured that our suspension time both started tomorrow.

Tomorrow is today, and I haven't yet spoken to Craig.

I woke up with stiff, crusty eyes. My bedroom was a blur, morning light streaming between the window curtains. I thought to myself, 'Why am I still here, on this Earth, with nothing to do?' I was beginning to think I woke up in another nightmare, because there was nothing but dead silence overpowering the room. I wanted to lie back down, but at the same time, I knew that if I did, I'd be pulled into some horrific scene in my head.

The alarm clock screams in my ear, indicating me that it would be time to go to school, if I could. I fling it across the room. Flinging things across my room—that reminds me…

I felt around my nightstand for the Risperidal. I felt nothing but wood and dust. Then it hit me—I left my things at Craig's house.

I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I showed up on his doorstep. My drugs and clothes definitely wouldn't be the only thing he'd give me when I arrive there.

I meekly approach the bathroom in the hallway, when I notice a note taped my bedroom door.

**Tweek,**

**You're in huge trouble. Do not, under any circumstances, leave this house.**

**Mom & Dad**

Way to be, Mom and Dad. Didn't even take into account that I could have left the drugs I live off of at my boyfriend's house. Way to be.

I rip the note off the door and crumple it in my fist. I throw it into the bathroom wastebasket as I go to the sink and splash ice cold water onto my face. The tiny clock on the windowsill says 7:08. I slept four and a half hours.

I have to get out of this house. I'm not going to sit around all day and wait for beasts to find me. Maybe if I run, they won't be able to keep up. I figure I should run to Craig's house. Running would be the quickest format of transportation, considering my lack of quarters for the bus and lack of license to drive the car that I also lack.

Disregarding my parents' desires, I throw on lazy clothes and storm out the door to Craig's house.

I feel like I have purpose now. I have somewhere to be, and it's not school. Even though Craig isn't expecting me, and even though he's probably still asleep at this hour in the morning… I'm going to Craig's house.

Three things smacked me in the face while I was sprinting. The first thing being the fact that I'm going in the direction of school, not Craig's house. Coming to a short stop and running in the opposite direction, the second thing hit me.

The second thing being… silence. I hear nothing. I don't even hear my own footsteps. I don't hear anyone—or anything telling me what to do. I don't see anything—except for cracked ice beneath my face.

That was the third thing. A cold, thin, hard sheet of ice on the sidewalk. My face is both burning and freezing. Running wasn't a good idea with ice on the ground. My stomach feels shattered. I hit the ground hard. At a failed attempt to maneuver myself back to my feet, I slip and fall again.

The path the Craig's house is paved with sheets of ice. It's a long, silent walk to Craig's. Surprisingly silent.

His house is a dot in the distance as it comes up on his block. Avoiding all other patches of ice on the sidewalk, I manage to make it to the front of his house without falling again on my face. Just standing there, staring at the familiar brown exterior of his home. I walk up the shoveled steps, stiffly and cautiously.

Rang the doorbell. Standing like a statue in the cold, I wait and wait. The sound of unlocking startles me as a short blonde woman opens the door and takes a good, long look at me.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

I clear my throat. "I-I'm here to pick up some things… I left some things here the other n-night… Is Craig home?"

"Yes, but he's punished. He's not taking any visitors at the moment."

Craig's mom has hair blonder than mine. I had to question the genetics here—if I'm not mistaken, Craig's dad has red hair. How on Earth did Craig end up with black hair?

"Um… I just need my things."

"Make it quick," she mutters.

I brush past her and march up the stairs to Craig's bedroom. The hallways are quiet as well. The only sounds I could hear this time were the creaking of the wooden floorboards. I tried to remember which of these closed doors lead to my boyfriend's bedroom. I remembered it was the last one in the hall on the left. I politely knock on the door, but there is no response from the other side. I knock once again. Still no response.

I twist the knob slowly and peek in. Craig is sprawled across his bed, heavily breathing. His head his dangling off the edge of the mattress and his blanket is kicked off to the side. He's such a beautiful mess. _He's actually quite an ugly mess on the inside. _

I slam the palms of my hands to my head, squeezing it tight.

"No, no… don't start now… " I mutter.

I search the dim room for my things. I see the clothes from that night were still in the corner Craig had thrown them in. I pick them up and shove them into the huge shopping bag that was conveniently right by the door. The room is still dark with the curtains closed and the lights switched off; I don't want to wake Craig, so I try to turn on the night vision that I don't have.

_You probably can't find your drugs for a reason. Everything happens—or doesn't happen—for a reason. _

Murmuring swears, I search even more. Underneath the bed, on his nightstand, behind the nightstand, underneath the kicked-to-the-side blanket…

Found it.

I slip the pack out of its sleeve and notice something that wasn't there before. Or rather, something that was there before, now isn't. Two spaces where there should be tablets are empty.

Did Craig fucking take a dose of Risperidal?

I stand up and take a hold of Craig's head. I gently set it back on the pillow where it belongs, and give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Why?" I ask him.

_

* * *

_

_Hot air soothes your cheek, a sweet voice whispering to your ear. Lasting only so long, the voice swiftly fades away and seamlessly turns into high screeching. Tearing you out of your trance, freezing wind gusts past as the sound of pounding rings in your ears. You can't try to close your eyes, for you will only still see what is approaching. _

_Giant shadows cast overhead, and all that is left in your body is fright and anguish. Thousands of beasts dart their thousands of eyes at you. Nearing the massacre that is about to take place, they speak to you. _

"_Why?"_

**Craig's PoV**

"Why?" the word repeats itself, over and over again. "Why?"

I stir and moan, feeling around for something to throw against the wall. I feel a hand, and it's not mine. It's smooth and thin, and gripping my hand tightly. I squeeze the hand, hoping that it's the Hand of God to take me in. This is the end. _Can't be. It's just the beginning._

"Craig?"

My eyes finally pry open and see a pair of sleepless hazel orbs. I guess it's not the end.

"Mmm… Tweek…" I wrap my arms around his bony shoulders.

"Tell me why you did what you did," he whispers. He sounded like he was about to cry.

"Wha… What did I do?"

"Th-The meds," he said. "I know you took some."

I stared at him like I didn't know what he just said. It took a few seconds for his words to deliver themselves to my brain and process them. It takes even longer for my brain to send words to my mouth and process them.

"I got scared."

If the statement were any truer, it'd probably be a crime. It was at this moment I realized how dumb Tweek felt that one night telling me how scared he was.

Tweek gave me a look, puzzled and concerned.

"O-Of what?" he asked.

I didn't want to tell him that last night, I saw him, but he wasn't there. And it wasn't him. It was like… an abomination of him, or something. I didn't want to tell him that I believed they were after me too. I didn't want to tell him all that, because I told him I'd protect him from those fucking things. And now, I can't even comprehend what's reality and what's not.

"Of reality," I spit out. "What if… What if… I thought that…"

I'm totally stuck. I can't tell him. I can't. _He'll have to find out eventually. Expect it to be soon, Craig._

"What?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I-I just panicked and took two dry, and passed out… I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have done that, Tweeks."

"I forgive you," he said. "I just came t-to get my things, I really should be going, your mom would probably get pissed if I stayed any lo—"

I did that thing where I cut off his rambles with a kiss. It's gotta be one of my favorite things to do.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be in school?" I motherly ask him.

"Oh, yeah. Um… I'm suspended too. I kinda punched Cartman right after he got out of the nurse's for your punch, and… yeah."

"Dude! No way you punched Cartman too! That's unlike you," I state.

"Y-Yeah. I know. B-But it wasn't my fault! S-Something told me…" he trails off. I know he doesn't want to mention it, but he doesn't have to. I know what he's talking about. I know exactly what he's talking about. _He doesn't know that._

"So, we're both out of school for nearly a month. What do you wanna do?"

"There's not much we can do," he says. "I-I'm not even supposed to be outside of my house."

"Pff," I scoff. "We're already suspended from school. How much more trouble can we really get into? …And dude? What the hell happened to your face?"

He seems to be startled by my question and rubs his right cheek, over the scratches.

"Oh, jeez, I didn't even realize it showed…" he muttered. "I fell on ice when I ran here."

"You RAN here? Why?"

"I-I needed my stuff… and I wanted to see you…"

"Okay, you're either addicted to your meds, or you're addicted to me."

"Hahaha!" His cute laugh puts a wide smile onto my face. "I think I'm just addicted to you."

I wrap my arms tightly around him again, kissing his ear. "We have to go somewhere today, Tweeks… We have to run away, even if it's just for a bit. We can't just lie around living off each other's body heat, can we?"

"Where could we possibly go on a cold Thursday in January?" he questions softly.

I think for only a moment, and the first thing that pops into my mind is,

"Carnival."

"Where is there going to be a carnival going on in the middle of Winter?"

"I know where there's one," I say. "This is South Park. It doesn't matter what time of the year it is. It's always cold."

"And your mom? Sh-She says you're punished… A-And she wants me to leave."

"So, go out the front door. I'll meet you outside."

Tweek looks confused, but I think he understands. "Okay."

He takes his things and sprints out my bedroom door. Just after he leaves, I put a flimsy 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door, and lock it.

I put on a graphic t-shirt, with casual jeans and a coat. I rip open the curtains and the light slipped through the window. The near-white sky stared at me. I open the window and climb onto the nearest tree branch. Once I clung on with one hand, I used my free hand to close the window. I stepped down a few branches before jumping off and landing on my feet.

I see Tweek just around the corner of my house, waiting for my arrival.

"There's always a fucking tree," I hear him mutter under his breath. _How else are you going to hang yourself?_

"How else are you going to hang yourself?" I blurt accidentally. Aw, shit!

"What? Y-You're joking," Tweek stammers.

"Yeah, totally. Um…" Shit, what's up with Tweek's meds? They didn't help in the least bit. _Did you expect them to? _"Um, let's take the bus. I have quarters."

* * *

A small multicolored Ferris wheel spins in the distance. Red and white striped concession stands surround it, as well as other tents and children walking around with stuffed animals. It wasn't crowded at all. The only people populating the carnival were little-little kids and their parents.

**Tweek's PoV**

The carnival is small, and full of children who aren't even old enough for Kindergarten. Cutesy jingles pathetically blared out of speakers wired to lampposts, creating a somewhat depressing vibe.

Creepy carnies stood behind concession stands and ran rides; they looked bored, depressed and distressed. _You would be bored, depressed and distressed too if you were in their position. _

"What do you wanna do?" Craig asked cheerfully.

I took a gander at what surrounded me. I suppose it wasn't all that bad—we could waste money on games, eat some cotton candy, or watch a guy do magic tricks…

"I'm hungry," I say, sensing a buttery aroma.

"Hey, want popcorn for breakfast?" Craig asks, reading my thoughts. _What irony._

"Sounds good."

We go to the popcorn stand with no line. Nothing has a line around here—if it weren't for the three-foot tall kids carrying around boot-leg Sesame Street plushes and balloons, this place would seem abandoned.

We're given the popcorn in a generic red and white striped cardboard container. Craig steals a handful of popcorn while it's in my hand.

"Hey!"

"I paid for it."

"I'm the hungry one!"

"So eat, dammit!" he shouts while deliberately grabbing another handful of popcorn, throwing it playfully at me.

"I said I was hungry, let me eat!" I grab some popcorn and throw it back at him as he runs away from me, taking cover behind a garbage can.

"You can't get me from back here, fucker!" Craig shouts.

"You're not getting any more popcorn from back there, either," I laugh.

I walk ahead of his garbage can-fort, pretending as if I'm leaving him behind.

I feel him jump up behind me, but still out of my sight. He attacks me with tickling hands.

"_Ahahahaha!"_ I throw the container of popcorn over my shoulder as Craig tickles me madly—I'm gonna kick him, I swear.

"Anything to hear that laugh of yours," he says.

In short time, he lets go and prances in front of me.

"Being suspended from school is really cool, I'll be with Tweeks for the next three weeks!" he sings.

"Alright, Dr. Seuss, calm down," I laugh again.

Craig whirls around as I catch up to his spot. We take another look at our surroundings, silently figuring out what we should do.

"Come on, let's do something!" Craig beams. I love it so much when he's outgoing like this; just being his perfect self. "We don't have all day."

"A-Actually, we pretty much do have all day," I remark.

"True." He smirks.

I walk beside him, and I'm not afraid to put my hand in his. We walk in silence, though still feeling blissful. We pass all the concessions and games, coming across the entrance to the Ferris wheel. It's kind of a small Ferris wheel, standing at probably less than 100 feet high. A boot leg Ferris wheel, I guess.

"Let's go on," Craig suggests. "We can get a good view of the mountains."

Again, cutting straight through the lineless ropes, we make it to the front wear a carny is practically asleep. We jump onto a car, and wait for it to begin operating.

"You're not afraid of heights, are you?" Craig asks.

"What? Ah, no, of course not! I'm not paranoid," I say, looking up at how not-high the Ferris wheel went. "We're not gonna fall off or anything, and then crush a person, no, don't be r-r-ridiculous."

"Right." He chuckles just as the motor starts going, and we begin to rise higher, getting a view as far as the parking lot.

"Beautiful, beautiful cars," Craig exaggerates. "Beautiful."

As we go a little higher, the view starts to actually become beautiful. Despite the chilly wind of Winter blowing, I can still enjoy this, whether it's freezing or not.

We catch a good glimpse of the hazy mountains. They look like a painting, or an edited photograph—unreal.

The Ferris wheel comes to a stop at its highest point, and suddenly, time has stopped; everything around me is frozen, except for Craig. Frozen time. Frozen reality. We lean in for a compassionate kiss, overlooking the mountains of Colorado. My favorite kiss.

Time unfreezes. The wheel begins to rotate again. In only a few seconds flat, we're back on the ground. Back to reality. _You should feel the need to question reality at this point. Isn't this all so confusing? _No, you're wrong this time. I am not confused.

"Games," Craig says. "We gotta play games."

"W-We don't have to…" I weakly protest. "Unless you're gonna win a nice, big prize for me."

"That's what she said," Craig muttered, holding in laughter. I shove him playfully.

"Test y'ar strength! Come on and test y'ar strength here!" A quirky-looking carny in suspenders waves his arm around, gesturing to the Test Your Strength machine. It flashed with cheap-looking red and yellow lights. Another guy comes into sight, holding a huge stuffed dog.

"It was way easy winnin' this! So worth it! So worth it!" he clutched the dog to himself. I assumed he was a carny too, bragging how easy the game is so that people would play it. The persuasion worked for Craig. He handed the first carny two dollars in exchange for a flimsy mallet.

"Two aces? Ya get two tries, son," the carny said while stuffing the bills into his back pocket. "Give it a go."

He swings the mallet over his shoulder, and slams it onto the machine. It made an obnoxious noise. The lights had only gone up to 40 or so out of 100.

"One more go, son."

One more time, Craig swings the mallet over his shoulder and onto the machine. It made the same obnoxious noise, still reaching the 40 mark.

"Good try. Here's your prize." He's handed a stuffed colorful block-thing. He walks back towards me, still eyeing the colorful block-thing,

"The fuck is this?" he mumbles. "Is this a nice, big enough prize?"

I laugh at the sarcasm in his voice. "I-I can't even tell what it is."

"We could give it to a kid," he suggests.

"Yeah. We could."

He looks around for the nearest child with empty hands. I spotted a child on a bench with his mother, doing nothing in particular.

"H-How about them?" I point.

"Aw, yeah! Good find." He runs over to the child and his mother. "Hey, kiddo, you want this?" The boy reaches out with tiny arms and squeezes the block. Craig lets it fall onto the kid's lap.

"What do you say?" The mother plays her part.

"Thank you," the boy states in a way too cute for anyone's good.

"No problem!" Craig salutes and runs back towards me. I feel like I've done nothing the whole time Wonder-Craig has been doing good deeds. _Well, fucking do something. _

"I-I wanna go try a game now," I admit.

"Alright. Check it, over there—there's a wheel you can spin or something, wanna try that?"

I kind of don't. It takes no effort to play, and I want to actually _try _something. But I go along with it.

"Sure."

Another quirky carny looks at us with a permanent smile. "Hey-a, boys. Wanna try a spin at the Wheel of Calamity?"

"Calamity?" Craig questions. "Where's the Wheel of… Fortune?"

"Ain't got one of 'em here, buddy," the carny replies. "Takin' a spin?" He smiles, revealing yellow, yellow teeth. Disgusting, I thought. He probably only lived off of carnival popcorn. His eyebrows were dark, bushy and harsh.

I thought about what the Wheel of 'Calamity' would tell us. It was probably a really, really bad idea to spin it. Really, really bad. _You think so?_

"Go ahead, Tweek," Craig gestures for me to stand in front of the Wheel of Calamity. "Spin it."

I don't wanna spin it. I don't wanna spin it. So, I spin it. _Round and round it goes, where it stops, nobody knows._

Yellow-toothed carny puts his arm behind the wheel. It begins to slow down; I carefully watch where it's about to stop.

And…

It…

_Stops._

The phrase it landed on reads, 'Dangerous things approach.'

Jeez, as if I didn't know.

"Dangerous things approach…" the carny mutters, scratching his chin. "You're gonna need this to protect yourself, kid." He pulls a toy gun out of a cardboard box behind him and sets it in my hands. "Good luck with it."

"Erm… thank you?" I looked directly at the toy gun. It's made of plastic, and it's bright green.

"Have a good day, kid."

Dangerous things approach? Of-fucking-course dangerous things are approaching. Do I not take meds for that? But, jeez… does this mean…

"I'm so confused," I mutter to myself. _Guess I wasn't wrong._

Craig puts a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, Tweeks, nice gun. Maybe we could use that some time."

"Haha, yeah," I fake a chuckle.

"Aw, that's not your laugh. I know your laugh, and it's not that. What the fuck's up?"

"Nothing," I say.

"Sure?"

"Sure."

"But hey—there's still something we didn't do."

"What?" I ask.

"There's a house of mirrors over there," he stated, pointing to a small tent. "We could go in there for fun."

A House of Mirrors. It looked more like aluminum foil with a curtain thrown over it, from the outside.

"Craig? What if this is the 'dangerous thing that is approaching'?" I ask, all my paranoia breaking loose.

"Tweeks, that carny asshole braked the wheel so it could stop on whatever the hell he wanted. He was just trying to scare the flying shiznit out of you, that's all."

"W-Well, he succeeded. The flying shiznit is officially scared out of me."

"Don't worry. Just hold my hand through the whole thing so you won't hit your face on a mirror. If you get paranoid, get your little green gun ready."

"Gah!" If I hit my face on a mirror, it'll probably shatter and make my face bleed, and then I'll be rolling around on the floor, writhing in pain… and I don't know how a little green gun is going to protect me from that. Then I'd have to pay for breaking the mirror.

We cautiously walk into this house full of glass that could potentially break. Maybe there's already little shards on the ground that will get stuck on the bottom of our shoes or something.

All I see is me, and Craig. Reflections of ourselves reflecting off reflections. Our reflections are distorted, making us look fatter, thinner, taller, shorter. But no matter what body type Craig and I portray, somehow, we still look exactly the same.

Craig leads me right through the first few turns and corners. It's actually a much bigger maze than it looks like from the outside.

We walk slowly, seeming fascinated by our own reflections.

The paths begin to grow narrower, and I walk sideways to avoid breaking any of the mirrors. I can feel my hand twitching in Craig's with nervousness. The paths keep getting narrower, and narrower. My hand gets sweaty and warm, jittery and jumpy. My grip on Craig's hand grows tighter, but somehow slips off. I try to grab it again, but the friction prevents me from catching a grip. He walks ahead, and his many reflections confuse me. I try to follow, but there are too many Craigs. Which one do I grab hands with?

Suddenly, I realize there are no more Craigs in sight. I hear running footsteps, but my feet are planted firmly on the floor.

"Craig?" I call. No response.

I start to run. I try to stay in path, but the mirrors are all too confusing. I close my eyes and hope that I will be taken to wherever I need to. Mistake.

I feel the sound of glass being hit as my head is collided with a mirror. I fall backward abruptly.

This is the end, I think. I'm dead now. I'm dead.

I open my eyes and expect to see the gates to Heaven, or Hell, or wherever I belong. But my expectations were far too high. What I see in front of me, in the mirror, is not me.

It's not Craig, either. It's not a human, in fact, it's a freak of nature—staring at me straight in the face, like a freak of nature always would.

The distorted view of the monster makes it even more terrifying. I have nothing to do but run.

I drop the little green gun and jump to my feet. I run even faster, through the narrow paths and hope to find some sort of escape.

But every corner I turn, there is a monster waiting to kill me. Something is always there. There are thousands of them. Every corner I turn, there is a monstrosity with its hands out, trying to choke me.

I thought that if I choke myself, I could escape from this nightmare. Maybe, just maybe, if I did what they wanted, they'd leave me alone.

**Craig's PoV**

Running like a psycho through a hall of mirrors solves no problems.

I thought I'd had Tweek with me the whole time. I thought he'd always been behind me, but I was horribly wrong. He's somewhere on the other side, seeing what I'm seeing.

There's another there. And one there, and one next to it and a thousand across from it. Every mirror holds one thing or another that wants to kill me; and Tweek.

I have to find him. I have to find him—that way, we can run away together. Farther from here. Far from reality, far from the nightmares—someplace where none of that can never, ever happen. Someplace where we're both safe. South Park is not a safe place for us. I have to find him so I can tell him we need to fucking _go._

I hear another pair of running footsteps, complete with cries and screams.

"Tweek!" I call, but there is no response.

I run past every monster, trying not to catch a glimpse, but it's impossible to escape.

I'm positive that these monsters are not a part of the fucking attraction—it's all me, all Tweek.

"Tweek!" I call on last time, before catching sight of daylight, and clinging to the ground for dear life.

**Tweek's PoV**

I let go of my throat, realizing that the monsters will take care of that soon enough.

Almost soon enough. I try to look where I'm going, but my vision is blurred. Blurred enough that I can't see the monsters. Through my blurred eyes, I can only see that they seem to be fading away. But they always come back.

I see a blurry light. That must be it. I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead. This is over, I know it. I see the light. I see the light!

I go to the light, but the light ends up smelling like popcorn and dirt. When my vision clears, I see Craig a few feet away from me, with one hand to his face.

I cling to him, rubbing my face in his shoulder. He returns the contact, burying his head in my shoulder.

"I was so scared," we mutter at the same time.

We pull apart and stare into each other's eyes. Both of us are crying.

"W-Why were y-y-you scared?" I ask.

"I… I…" He wipes his face with his hand. "I see and I hear th-the things that you do. Y-You know… I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I couldn't protect you."

"You…? It—It's okay." I hold him as tightly as humanely possible. "We'll get through this together. Right? Right?"

Craig's grasp around me loosens. "No. We have to go."

* * *

The ride back to Craig's house was silent, but we both knew we were thinking the same thing. At least I think we were.

"How are we going to get back up to your room without your mom seeing? D-Do we have to climb the tree?" I ask as we walk towards Craig's house.

"Climb the tree? Um, sort of."

"Sort of?"

Craig doesn't respond after that. We approach the side of his house, where his bedroom window and sneak-away tree are. I try to find a foothold on the tree.

"What are you doing?" Craig asks.

"Um…"

"We're not going back up to my room."

"We're not?"

"No. Wait here."

I do as I'm told and wait by the tree, trying to keep my hands warm in my coat pockets. Craig walks around to the back of his house. He's gone for a full minute or two.

He comes back holding a rope.

"No…" I whisper. "H-He's not… Craig! What are you doing with that?"

Craig doesn't respond as he begins to unfurl the rope, looping it around and knotting it in such a design that I want to scream.

"You can't be doing this!" I scream.

"You're coming with me," he says in a low, apathetic tone.

"You're being irrational! This isn't like you! Craig, why? Why the fuck?"

"What happened in the House of Mirrors today… I can't go on like that. Neither can you. You don't deserve to. We can't live every day like we're in a freakshow. So, we should go with what they want. They'll stop bothering us that way."

"Freakshow? Do you think I'm a _freak_? This isn't my faul—"

"It's not mine either! I'm the freak too!"

"No! _No_! You said we would deal with this! You said—"

"Forget what I said!" he roars. "Listen to what I'm saying right now."

But all I could listen to was the faint whistling of the wind as he flung the rope over the highest branch.


	9. Imperfect Insanity

A/N: Holy. Shit. I am so, so, so sorry times infinity (and then some) for the over-two-month-long wait. I mean, holy crap. You wouldn't believe what's happened to me in the past two months. I'm not even gonna list what's been happening because it would be even longer than this chapter itself. I want to keep this note short and sweet because it's 5:15 in the damn morning.

Well, I wanna say thank you to everyone that's been reviewing and reading. It really means a lot. But I'd also like to know, though, if the people who have been reading it since it was first published are still reading it? :O I am pretty unsure about how many people are reading this story, so, if you're reading this, could you just leave an itty bitty review just to let me know that you are? That would be fantastic, because I'd really love to know who some of my readers are and if everyone who I've read reviews from and seen favorites/alerts from are still reading this.

I really could not have done this without my fanfic partner in crime, Imajinacion Reinbou. She is so totally made of win, and she's amazing writer too, so check out her stuff! Also, good news: me and her are going to be co-writing this huge Creek fic in the summer! :O We are totally excited about writing it, we've been planning it out a lot and collecting ideas and everything, it's gonna be awesome!

Oh yeah, and some of the scenes here were totally inspired by the movie Watchmen. If you've seen it, it's really obvious what scenes I'm talking about.

So, here's one more apology for the wait: I'm so sorry! But please enjoy reading this chapter, I sure enjoyed writing it! (:

* * *

**Tweek's PoV**

Imperfection.

Not that anything is perfect in the first place. Imperfect should just be a word itself, not a spin-off of the word 'perfect'. What _is _perfect? Nothing is perfect. Not in any way, shape, or form, can anything possibly considered perfect. In the eyes of God, maybe, but who are we to speak for Him? Something that is considered perfect can break at any time. Perfect things are the most fragile things. A perfectly sculpted sculpture can be broken with the simple swing of a baseball bat. A perfectly painted picture can be ruined with an easy spill of water or wine.

Like Craig… the perfect sculpture, the perfect painting of the perfect boyfriend; he made an instantaneous transition from perfect to imperfect. And it was all because of me. I am forever imperfect, immune to ever being perfect, and my imperfection rubbed off on Craig.

Now look what I've done. Look what I've driven him to do.

But, despite my everlasting imperfection, it's my turn to play the perfect part as Craig's boyfriend to stop him from this. I have to stop him right now.

I'm looking at him now, tightening a rope around a thick branch right outside his own bedroom window. It's no mystery what he's planning to do, and it's no mystery that I am going to freak the fuck out. I'm trying my hardest not to, at least.

Honestly, I don't even know who I'm kidding. Craig wants to kill himself, and it's all my fault. You see, if this were happening some odd number of weeks ago, I would have been completely out of my mind, running in circles, but I'm not. I'm holding all that in. I fail at holding back tears, but I'm doing decently at holding in the spazzing. Spazzing would only make this worse.

But he wants me to go with him. He wants to _die _with me.

I'm not going to die today. Not even with him. I have to stop him; I want to continue living among the land of the living, even if we have to go through it like this. Craig should know this; he's playing the very same game as me.

"Come on, Tweek," I mutter to myself, "handle this as calmly and as rationally as humanely possible. Don't burst. Don't be a freak…"

"Look," I begin. I clear my throat, and try to talk loud and clear, as if I were giving a presidential speech. "I—"

"You what?" Craig cuts me off.

"I…" I can't continue. I'm unprepared. I have absolutely nothing to say. No argument, no philosophy, nothing. Imperfection.

"You…?" Craig glares right through me. "Spit it out."

Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.

"Why?" And that's all my quivering, little mouth could manage to spit out.

"Because… because…"

"Spit it out." I steal his words.

"You know why. There's no other way."

"No other way for what? What goodis this going to do us? Do you honestly think that killing ourselves like this is going to solve any problems at all?" I am on fucking fire. "I neverwould have thought I'd have do give you this talk, man! _Because you're so fucking bad at this, there are so many other easier ways we can kill ourselves._"

"What?"

Oh, God. It just came out… it was him. Or her. Or whatever the hell it is, but _it_ was _it_, it made me say something I didn't want to say, and it's fucking me over. I am as petrified as I can be. It scares me that the voice is starting to influence how I interact with other people—as if my human-to-human interactions weren't awkward and uncomfortable enough, now my voice isn't the only voice coming out of my own mouth.

"Th-that… that… that last part. That wasn't me. That wasn't me!" I cry and shout, making damn sure that the message gets through. "I didn't say that. I-I didn't want to say that, I swear!"

"I know."

He knows. He knows I didn't want to say that, because maybe he understands now. Because I broke him, I imperfected him, he understands me now. But I don't want him to understand me. I've always wanted to understand him, what it was like to be with the Craig I fell in love in, not the one I turned him into.

How much of the imperfect insanity that I put in him influences how he acts towards me? This isn't the real Craig… it can't be. _Of course it's not. You ruined him. _I did not. You did.

Who's in front of me right now? Craig? Or his abomination?

I'm still and spaced out right now, just staring at Craig, who too, is still and frozen. Both of us, completely perplexed, not sure of what to do next. Maybe this is what death actually feels like. It's silent, still and unpredictable.

Over the past few days, Craig told me about a little something about the Game of Life. I know that was the real Craig that was talking to me at that time. I know it was the real Craig talking to me earlier this same day, but right now, I'm wavering.

If the real Craig isn't going to talk, the real Tweek is.

I open my mouth the breath. Then speak. "You know I love you more than life itself. A lot more. But I don't love life that much to begin with."

"Then why—"

"Because I'm going to learn how to love this shitty game, whether you're with me or not. This game is probably harder for me than it is for you. You have so much to live for. People love you. I should be the one standing underneath that death tree. But I'm not, because I'm going to keep playing this game. I might suck at the Game of Life, but who doesn't? If I had to take a guess, I'd say that nobody's ever won this game, nobody knows what you win at the end of it. There's no _way_ to win—everyone's going to die. But they have to play the game well to die happy.

"Perhaps the prize is immortality! Maybe it's _love._" I emphasize 'love' as my throat dries up and breathing becomes an even more difficult task. I start shaking. My vision blurs. Now, I start yelling. "Hell, maybe it's a goddamn life supply of coffee! No matter what's at the end, we have to keep playing!"

I drop the palms of my hands to my thighs and pant heavily. I haven't spat out that many words at once since… actually, I haven't spat out that many words at once period.

"Please," I plead, sounding like a child begging for a toy, "don't do this."

Do I have to drop on my knees and beg him? Apparently, I have to, because that's exactly what I do.

"Please, please, please…" I lean down. The tip of my nose touches the ice cold snow, my tears freezing as soon as they hit the ground. The weather feels like it's dropped a thousand degrees below zero, but—that's just my heart dropping. It's dropped a thousand miles below where it was just a few hours ago. If I only could know what was going through his head at this very moment, if only I could know exactly what he was thinking, I might be able to stop this. But I'm no mind reader. Do I know Craig well enough to guess what he's thinking? Can I look him directly in the eyes and just listen to what his eyes tell me? I can't. _If anyone else knows what he's thinking besides him, it's me. _Help me. Help me now. _I can't._

"Life's not just a game," Craig says. "Life is like… jeez, I don't know. A Ferris wheel. Not a roller coaster, everybody says that. Roller coasters are fast and fun and shit. Life isn't fast and fun. It's fun, sure, but… anything but fast. Even when you look at the clock and you have no time to do anything you want to do, you complain that time goes by too fast, then you realize just how slowly it's going. I've been on this Earth for only seventeen years, and it feels like a million and two. Only I don't know what a million and two years feels like, because I've only lived for seventeen years. If every seventeen years feels like a million and two years, then…"

He hits the brakes on his speech, and I can't say that I know where he's going with this. If every seventeen years feels like a million and two years, then…? Then what, I want to ask him, but I continue looking up at him. He's completely solid, unable to see through.

"If every seventeen years feels like a million and two years, then…"

I know what comes next.

"Y-You should live it," I say. "Live it. A million and two years is a pretty long time. You have time to do all the stuff you want to do, so you should live it. And," I sit up a little more, "life is a lot of things. There's a shitload of metaphors out there, okay? A-And, y-y-you know... you know what?" I stand straight up on my feet and brush snow off myself. I aim my eyes and shoot straight at him, but he's still bulletproof. "I'm sick of the metaphors. Life is what it is. I don't want to be like my dad... th-that fucking... metaphor whore, for lack of a better term. I'm sick of the metaphors, the similes, the philosophy, what the fuck are you trying to say? Man, I want out! I want out!" Pull, tug, twitch, scream—spaz attack.

I can't even see Craig anymore. My eyes are shut and I can only see things attacking me.

"Tweek!" A voice shrieks. It's deep, booming and hateful. Far from the pitch of Craig's voice. The voice hates me. I know this because the owner of the voice grabs me by the wrist and yells at me.

"Tweek! I can't even describe how much trouble you are in! I have been looking all over for you!" My dad looks over at Craig, who is in the same position I last saw him in. He's gripping the the rope, still and pale as a corpse.

"And how many times have I told you not to get associated with Craig Tucker?"

I pry myself out of his grip.

"None," I say. "You've never told me to stay away from him."

"You should know better than to hang around these types of people! Craig is... Craig is a monster! He's a bad influence!"

I give him a disgusted look. I must look like I've just tasted sour milk, or something even worse. Like I've tasted bad coffee. Nothing is worse than bad coffee. Whatever I've just tasted, it's making me look at my dad like he's the monster here. The monster who forbade his son to leave the house; the monster who expected me to remain sane in our tiny, dark tank of a house. The monster who grabbed me by my wrist and yelled in my face. The monster who lied to me about caring about what I did in school, when he always knew the answer was nothing. The monster who uses shitty metaphors, not to mention this one. Craig is not a monster.

"Y-You don't know Craig. What the fuck makes you think that?"

"Don't you use that sort of language with me. We are going straight to see Dr. Thorton right now. Leave Craig to do what he wants to do." He eyes Craig, and I do too. I'm ecstatic to see what he's done.

He's dropped the rope.

He's dropped the rope and emotion is returned to his face. He looks alive again. The rope is no longer in his grasp, and is now a possession of the snow on the ground.

He walks towards us with his hands in his pockets, like he didn't just consider killing himself.

My dad pulls on my arm furiously, but I plant my feet dead on the ground. I'm not moving. Time seems to stand still as Craig approaches us. He parts his lips slightly. What he says is said so quietly that not even a bionic person can hear it, but I manage to make out his words to sound a little something like, "I'm coming with you."

His words have been reversed. Just a few endless minutes ago, he had said, while tightening the rope, "You're coming with me." Now he's coming with me.

For a brief moment, this seems like a good idea. But only for a brief moment does this seem like a good idea. That brief moment ends when my dad says, "No. You're not. Come on, Tweek. We're leaving." He tightens his grip around my wrist, which is starting to feel weak. I pull away, and he tries to pull me in his direction once again, but to no avail. I'm dead set on the ground.

"No," I say, "I'm not leaving without Craig."

Dad bullets his eyes straight into mine. "We are going right now. Say goodbye to your little friend."

Craig attempts to begin talking back, but I take over, seeing as this is my father and I believe I should be the one to yell at him right now.

"Dad. I am not a fucking little kid anymore. I may be close to it, but I am, in fact, almost eighteen years old. Speaking of which, may I add, that being almost eighteen, I believe I can make my own decisions. My first big decision being—not what I want to eat for breakfast, or what I want to fucking wear today—but who I want to be in a relationship with. Craig is not just my little friend. He is my boyfriend."

And that was all it took. A Tweek-esque outburst of words I never knew I could arrange in that way. It was something I could come up with in those rare silent moments.

Like now. Here it is again. A rare silence. I keep forgetting what silence feels like, what it's like to not hear anyone yelling at me or crying my name for no apparent reason.

But the silence only lasts so long. Dad's face is… expressing an emotion that probably has no name.

I've never seen it before, so there is no way I can possibly identify the name of this emotion. If I could describe this emotion in words, I would do so, but the emotion expressed on the face of my father is left to one's imagination.

I could take a guess at the name of it. I could call it awestruck, aghast, horrified or mortified. My father had seemed like somewhat of an understanding man before my teenage years came around. I'd never considered that he could be so appalled to find out his son was homosexual. Then again, I'd never considered that I'd be homosexual at all until very recent years, so maybe, both of us are appalled. My dad doesn't burst. I didn't expect him to. Instead, he takes a deep breath. An exasperated sigh.

"Son," he says, "you're a blooming flower. Actually, you're just a bud blooming in a lonely meadow. Some flowers take a little longer to bloom, and some even bloom... the wrong way."

Fuck, no, I don't want his metaphors. There was never a time when I wanted his metaphors. There was never a time when they made sense or helped me. There's a first time for everything, but the first time his metaphors do any good is not now. The first time I play along with his metaphors is now.

I imitate his sigh, and his sentence format.

"D-Dad... Dad," I say, "I may be a bud blooming in a lonely meadow. Actually, I'm just a bud with so much potential to be beautiful. But, unfortunately, I was put into too small of a pot with not enough water or sunlight."

This is the way I have to fucking talk to my dad. In metaphors. I'm not surprised that I inherited his metaphorical skills, not that his skills are good to begin with.

He gives me this strange look, and it's similar to the way he's been looking at me for most of my life. His tired eyes, not knowing what to do next, not knowing what to do with himself. I can tell he's dosed himself with coffee, but clearly not enough coffee. When I don't have enough coffee, I tend to speak in incomplete sentences. I tend to stutter and I tend to make less sense. Much like him.

"B-But... y-y-you and Craig. Craig... can't! He, you, no. No! No!" My dad takes nonsense to the next level. He starts moving his arms around, like we're playing charades or something. "It's simply not right."

"Then what's right?" Craig asks.

My dad murmurs even more incomplete declarations.

"That's what I fucking thought," Craig growls.

Nobody is speaking now, but it is loud. That voice is screaming at me and I don't know what it is saying. It seems to be screaming even more nonsense than it has ever spat out before. It's too much pressure to listen to it, it's too much pressure to deal with my dad at the moment. It's too much pressure to be Tweek, and I can't remember a time when it wasn't.

Now what?

Now what?

Now what do I do? What would Tweek do? That's a bad question to ask myself, because whatever Tweek would do is not the right thing to do. Tweek would pull his hair out and run away like a coward. What kind of guy is afraid of his own father? What kind of guy is Tweek?

Tweek _/twik/_ (n.) -1. the kind of guy who can't make the right decisions 2. boy who sits around drinking coffee all day 3. thinks about what to do and doesn't do it. 4. twitchy and jittery person.

What a clear definition of myself.

A clear definition, sure. But it's not the definition I want.

Self-discovery. Shit we went over in 7th grade. It's that thing where you… discover yourself, I guess. I'd never tried discovering myself. They gave us this self-discovery workbook. You fill in the blanks.

**How do you see yourself in school?**

**How do you see yourself at home?**

**How do you see yourself around friends?**

**How do you see yourself in general?**

I found these questions to be redundant, because I had the same answer for every single one of them.

If I could find myself right now, I might be able to have an idea of what I'm going to do.

Myself, still lost. It's somewhere buried underneath the contaminated coats of an elementary school lost-and-found. I keep looking through all the gross, linty coats but I can't seem to find my own. It's the smallest of all the coats. It looks like all the rest. But on the inside of that coat is a rough material that doesn't keep me warm.

Fucking metaphors.

Too much thinking, too much pressure… so much thinking and so much pressure that I didn't even notice what was going on right in front of my face.

Too busy thinking of what I should do as my father and my boyfriend get into a fist fight.

The first fist that flew was my dad's. Why his fist was flying, I will never know. I don't listen. The second fist that flew was also my dad's, and the third one to fly belonged to Craig.

I am clueless as to how this fight began. It could be due to the fact that my dad won't accept his son for who he is and blames the boyfriend for it. Or it may be due to the fact that Craig thinks my dad is being irrational and that violence is the answer. I thought we just learned that violence is not the answer.

Or, it could have gone like this:

**DAD  
'Ey, you been havin' a intimate relationship with my son?**

**CRAIG  
I reckon I have.**

**DAD  
My son ain't no queer.**

**CRAIG  
Not accordin' to his dick.**

**DAD  
You tryin' to piss me off?**

**CRAIG  
I reckon I am.**

**DAD  
Show me what you got.**

**CRAIG  
Ladies first.**

But I highly, highly doubt it went anything like that. I'm shocked and angry at myself for even considering that.

I shouldn't be considering, I should be taking action. If I haven't noticed, I'd like to remind myself that my dad and my boyfriend are physically fighting and there is something I can do about it. I could, for instance, scream at the top of my lungs that they should stop. Or I could jump in the middle of the fight, because they wouldn't dare hit the person they're fighting for.

I consider these options and try out the first one.

"H-Hey…" I murmur. "Hey!" Only a little louder. "HEY!" I reached a volume I thought unreachable. "Hey, will you guys fucking stop?"

My wish is their command. They stop, and their angry eyes lower to down to ashamed eyes.

I refrain from asking what started the fight. I was clearly too busy thinking about what I should do instead of paying attention, and potentially preventing this from happening. What I don't know won't hurt me.

"I-I… I know what we should do," I say, taking the responsible role here. "We should just… go see Dr. Thorton. Maybe she'll know what to do."

Dad didn't want to take Craig with us to Dr. Thorton's office. He just wanted to shove me in the back of the car and drive off, leaving Craig, but I insisted that Craig come with us, so that he could be helped, too. Dad probably took that the wrong way, like he thinks that Dr. Thorton is gonna cure our gayness or whatever. Uh, no.

I had actually missed a session today. We had to wait a long while before Dr. Thorton could take us in. I went into the office, alone, leaving Craig in the waiting room for just a moment.

"H-Hi," I muttered in the lowest of tones.

"Good evening, Tweek. How a—"

"Doctor? Umm, uhhh… I br-brought someone."

"Oh?" She tilts her head. "Who?"

"Uh…" I look around nervously. "I-I'll just go get him."

I swing through the doorway and down a short hallway. I gesture for Craig to get up and come into the room. Before he followed me back into the room, he grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me right round, like a record, and planted a soft kiss on my lips.

"I just needed one," he says.

I sigh and smile. "I know. Me too."

He links his fingers with mine as we walk back towards the room where Dr. Thorton awaits us. I never thought that I'd bring Craig with me to a session with her. But then again, I never think of a lot of things.

Both of us plop onto the squishy sofa, hand in hand. I know that Dr. Thorton knows who I'm holding hands with. But she doesn't want Craig to know.

"And who's this?" she sweetly asks.

"Craig. You know… my boyfriend." I sink a little deeper into the bottomless sofa pit.

"Oh, right!" She holds her hand out politely, and leans forward. "I've heard much about you. I'm Dr. Thorton."

I see that Craig grins nervously while shaking her hand. It's pretty damn awkward for all three of us, but we have to consult her about the problems. I'm not sure where to start.

"Have you ever attended a session like this before?" She asks him.

Craig shrugs. "I used to go to the guidance counselor a lot. Does that count?"

Dr. Thorton nods slightly. "Yes… I suppose."

"It-It's alright if he sits in with me, right?" I ask.

"Yes, it's fine. Now, how are you boys? Is there a problem?"

Craig and I look at each other, exchanging mixes of emotions. His face tells me 'You go first, you know her.' My face replies, 'No, you go first, you're the guest.' His face snaps back, 'Just talk!'

"Dr. Thorton, um--erm, me and Craig have been spending a lot of time with each other lately, and..." I trail off, and Craig nods in approval. 'Go on,' he mouths. "He's been telling me... that since we've been seeing each other... he's beginning to see and hear things. And judging by what happened today, we're both going through the exact same thing."

"Ahh," she goes, nodding. "What happened today?"

'Your turn,' I mouth to Craig. He shifts his vision to Dr. Thorton, who already looks somewhat intrigued.

"Okay, I don't know what Tweek may or may not have already told you, but I'm gonna start from the beginning. Me and Tweek punched a kid. This fat kid who I don't even like. He found out about us, and mocked us. He pissed me off really, really bad. So something influenced me to punch him really, really hard. Got caught. Got in trouble. Got suspended for a few weeks. Later, Tweek punched him too. I didn't even witness this, but Tweek got suspended as well. So here are the both of us, suspended from school at the same time. Some punishment. We ditched our houses and went to a carnival. Sounds like fun, right? Right. All was well and grand until we decided to go into a house of mirrors. It was not a good idea. I didn't even know how crazy we both were until we both became part of some freakshow. We lost each other." He turned off story-mode. His tone became sorrowful, rather than this matter-of-fact tone he's been keeping. "It was terrifying. I don't want to keep going on like this. It's making me very, very confused and just... afraid. I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid. There. I am afraid."

He told it better than I ever could.

"I think I see what's been happening to you two. There is a French term for it, it's called folie à deux, when a delusional or paranoid belief is transmitted from one to another."

"Fully-uh-what?" Craig pronouces it in his own accent.

"Folie à deux," Dr. Thorton says again. "Literally, it means the 'shared madness of two'."

"Oh," Craig goes. "They have names for everything these days."

"Y-Yeah, they do," I throw in.

"More than you know." Dr. Thorton actually chuckles at this. "Now, can you tell me more about what happened at the carnival, and more about the fight you two got into at school?"

Neither Craig nor I knew who should go next with the story-telling. It doesn't really matter who goes next--it just mattered who could tell the story best. I take a shot at more story-telling.

"There were thousands of them," I mutter. "Thousands of monsters after me. They were reflecting off one another in the house of mirrors, and they wanted to kill me, I knew it. They were yelling at me. I don't know how I managed to escape, but thank God I did."

"And about the fight," Craig jumps in. "I knew I had to give that kid what he deserved. Some parts of me were telling me not to punch him, but other parts were telling me I should. Those other parts were much more persuasive. So, I did."

"That sounds like what happened to me," I say softly. "I didn't want to. But I did anyway!"

Dr. Thorton picks up her yellow pad and starts scribbling rapidly.

"Wait, Craig," I turn to him, "What happened with my dad earlier? Did the same thing go through your mind when you punched Cartman?"

"Your dad punched first," he retorts. "Fighting back was my first instinct. I don't know what got into him though."

"I-I think my dad's pretty insane too."

"Wait, boys, stop right there. What did happen with Mr. Tweak?" She looks shocked at what she's hearing now. I would be, too. I sigh, dropping my face to my palms. I rub my eyes; I am too exhausted to even speak anymore.

"Well, Tweek sort of came out today, to his dad. It wasn't the greatest coming out experience. His father didn't understand, so he sort of went out of control, blamed it on me and hit me."

"Oh my goodness," Dr. Thorton gasps. "Was anyone seriously hurt?"

"No," Craig says, "Tweek managed to break it up. And that's when we came here."

Dr. Thorton composed even more notes onto her pad. When she was done, she opened her mouth to speak.

"Craig, I'm going to have to ask you to leave for just a moment. I need to have a discussion with Tweek alone."

"Sure." Craig got up from the sofa and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

"Tweek, have you ever taken a Rorschach inkblot test?" Dr. Thorton asks me.

"A what?"

"I suppose you haven't," she concludes. "I'm going to show you a few cards with images on them, and I want you to tell me the first thing that comes to mind."

Oh, _that_. I've heard of it, but I've never taken the test. From what I've seen, inkblots are these weird-looking ink blobs slapped onto paper. I could never think of an image or item while looking at them. I've only ever thought of it as what it is--a blot of ink.

"I will show you six of them. And I want you to be completely honest with me." She picked one card out of a box and held it up in front of me. A plain black blob of ink on white paper. It was an interesting image. Imperfectly symmetrical. Something I may have seen before, in a nightmare. Maybe it was a deformed wolf. A deformed, angry, bloodthirsty wolf.

"Beast," I say. She nods, setting that card aside and holding up another one. This one had black and red ink, but the image was simpler than the one before it. It looked mad. And it looked dead.

"The face of a dying madman," I say. I'm feeling too honest at this point. I wish I would have said something that would make me sound like less of a freak. She sets down that one, and picks up the next one. This one, again, was plain black and white. It took up more space on the sheet. It sort of looked like two monsters eating something. Something that looked like me. The monsters looked conjoined, though... like it was a hungry two-headed dragon. Maybe. It made me uncomfortable. I should just keep it simple.

"A hungry animal." Got the first three out of the way. Just three left. Only three.

"And this one?" She holds up the fourth card. Red and black ink. It looked like people heaving a box or a crate, surrounded by smaller people. Smaller people being held against their will, and the bigger people taking pride in what they're doing. It reminded me of a time a really, really long time ago. It was a scary time for me at that age. So much pressure, so many eyes on me.

"_The kid? The tweeked out kid?" A creepy, crazy-looking man shouted angrily in my direction. I possessed a weapon._

"_I'm gonna blow up the prints, Spielberg!" I cried._

"_Your persistence surprises even me," The same crazy director said._

"_Surely you don't think you can escape from this premiere," another man said to me. _

"_That depends on how reasonable we're all willing to be! All I want are my friends!" I spat it out. Did I really want to save these four boys? Were they _really_ my friends?_

"_Wow," Eric Cartman said. I felt that I should have shot him right there, at that moment. I always hated him._

"_Except for Cartman, you can keep him."_

"'_Ay!"_

"_And if we refuse?" _

"_Then your premiere has no movie!" I threatened. I really had no idea what I was going to do. I was under way too much pressure. The weapon was heavy. I wanted to put it down and run away. But for some reason, I had to prove myself to these boys. _

"_He's definitely lost it..." Stan said._

"_Yup." Kyle agreed._

_They were the ones who had gotten me into that situation. And of course, of all their crazy ideas, I'm the one who has lost it._

"_Okay, okay, stand back, stand back." Steven Spielberg pushed everyone aside. Only with Stan, Kyle and Cartman could I get tied up into a situation with Steven Spielberg. "Okay, kid! You win! Blow it up. Blow it back to God. All your life has been the pursuit of seeing a great film. This new version of Raiders has digital effects beyond your wildest dreams. You are to see it screened just as much as I." Oh, God. It was just too much pressure. I wanted to collapse. Or just run away, whichever was quicker. But I stayed in that spot, threatening to blow up the final print of Raiders of the Lost Ark._

"_Go on, Tweek! Blow it up!" Kyle shouted._

"_Son, we are simply passing through history. This is _improved_ history... do as you will." I couldn't. I just couldn't._

_I bailed._

"Insects," I say. How could I explain what happened that day? It's funny how the inkblot reminded me of that day--I hate to think of it.

I'm now up to two more cards. Just two more to go. The fifth one is held up. It looks like a person, but not a normal person. It seemed to look as if it were glowing, like a god. Or a ghost.

_"Gahhhh!" I screamed, headed straight beneath the safety of my blanket._

_"Relax Tweek, I am not here to hurt you. I am the Ghost of Human Kindness." A strange man stood at the end of my bed, arms spread out, dressed in this odd get-up. It was when I saw this that I knew I'd gone insane._

_"The Ghost of Human Kindness?"_

_"You have never seen the likes of me before."_

_"What do you want?" I asked._

_"You have lost faith in humanity, lad. Something I cannot bear to see happen."_

_"How can I help it? It seems like everywhere I turn, someone is out to get me!" Of course it was true. Even at that age I knew everyone was out to get me._

_"That is the world of the news reports. That is the world adults preoccupy themselves with. But it is not the world as it is."_

_"It isn't?"_

_He led me out of my house, and down the block to a retirement home._

_"Look here, Tweek. This woman is on her way to the retirement home. She doesn't get paid. She volunteers her time to talk with lonely, elderly people who want nothing more than a friend. But do you hear about her on the news? No."_

_Around the corner, he took me to a small house where there was a diverse family interacting in the living room._

_"Now gaze upon this humble house, Tweek. Inside there are two people who have adopted needy children. They were strangers to those kids once, now they are loving parents."_

_And even further past the houses and stores, he took me to a highway._

_"Now look here, boy. A car has broken down with a flat tire. And two complete strangers have stopped to help. Will their kindness be reported on the news tomorrow? I think not. Are you starting to understand, boy?"_

_"I think. Even though all you hear about on the news are murderers and abductors, those people only make up a small part of the world..."_

_"That's right, lad. So do you think you can learn to trust people now?"_

_"I'll try."_

_"Good. Now why don't you get into the back of my van and I'll drive you home."_

_"Your van?" Now, I knew I was screwed. It was what everyone was warning me about. These goddamn child abductors. I fell for it. I fucking fell for it. I was so stupid._

_"Alright, Johnson, give it up!" An amplified voice pierces through the air. He was busted. But I was safe; but still scared out of my mind._

_I couldn't trust anyone._

"A cow." Another lie. It didn't even look remotely like a cow.

But now, we're on the last card. Finally, this pressure will end soon. The last one she holds up is different from the rest. The ink is colorful and vibrant. the ink is not black or red; the ink is made up of bright blues, pinks, yellows and greens. There are two large figures in the center of the paper, with smaller multicolored blots surrounding the two large figures. It was like the smaller ones were watching the larger ones. Maybe the larger ones were in a fight and the smaller ones are watching in amusement. The two large ones looked to be angry at each other, yet the small ones were excited and entertained by what they were doing.

"_Okay, the time has finally come," Stan announced. I was in a ridiculous red robe, and my hands were in boxing gloves. I felt unready, uncomfortable. Craig and I really had no reason to fight. _

"_Programs, get your programs!" Clyde waved around programs for the fight. I remember feeling so exploited and violated. I never wanted to fight, and I never wanted to hurt Craig. _

"_Remember, Tweek. Punch hard, punch low. This is when you gotta get mean," Kyle said. _

"_Gah! Mean!" I repeated._

"_The spirit of the dragon is in your hands. Per-dong deh-sher-jong," Cartman said to Craig._

"_Okay," Craig replied in his signature mono voice._

"_Now listen to me: Per-shong der-sher-jong! I'm seriously! Per-shong deh-shing-dwer duong!" Cartman scolded._

"_Okay, okay!"_

"_You ready Tweek? Ready Craig? Let's get it on!"_

"_Respect my authority," was the first thing Craig said directly to me. Well, besides the finger._

"_Come on Tweek!" People cheered. The fists went flying. High and low, hard and strong. We were really prepared for this fight, but I felt hurt the entire time. Not because Craig was hitting me, but because I was hitting Craig._

"_Come on Craig!" Cartman cheered._

"_Go Tweek, kick his ass!"_

"_Come on Craig!" Another burst of support from Cartman._

_We literally rolled across the playground, ruining equipment and tainting the white snow. We both played infuriated parts. I just hoped he had felt the same way as I did._

_We stopped. Exhausted. Injured. We leaned on each other, face to face. If I had the guts, I would have kissed him right there. But I had no guts, none at all._

"_Woah, Tweek, did you hear that?" Kyle chimed in._

"_Huh?"_

"_Craig just called you a boner!"_

"_Gah!"_

_And the fists were flying again._

"The Eiffel Tower," I say. And that was the last one. I can't believe I even considered the last one looking like the Eiffel Tower. It just came to mind. It was not the _first_ thing that came to mind. But it came to mind.

"Okay, Tweek, thank you. Now, can you get Craig for me? And I'm going to ask you to stay outside while I speak with him."

**Craig's PoV**

"Cr-Craig? She wants to see you." Tweek pokes his head out of the doorway.

"Okay." I enter the room as Tweek brushes past me. I fall onto the sofa, feeling the warm spot where Tweek had been sitting.

"Hello again, Craig," the old shrink says.

"Hi."

"I don't suppose you've ever taken a Rorschach inkblot test, have you?"

A boreshack pinkblock what? "Nope."

"Well, I'm going to show you a few cards with inkblots on them, and I want you to tell me what you see. "

Those things? God, those always seem so pointless. And they always tend to look like vagina diagrams.

"Okay," I say ever-so-blandly.

"I did the same for Tweek. But I'm only going to show you three of the six that I showed him." She reaches into this little folder-box thing next to her chair and holds up the card. "Tell me the first thing that comes to mind. And be honest."

It looks like someone shat and bled ink onto a piece of paper, that's what it looks like. It's red and black ink, and it looks sort of like... I don't even know. I should just make something up.

"Um. A moth," I say. Not too bad.

Wait, wait. I remember what these are for now. It's not a game or someshit. She's testing my psyche, _duh. _Fuck.

She holds up yet another one. This one is plain black, and it's darker and bigger than the one she just showed me.

It's a little scary. It looks like it's eating something, or like it wants to beat the shit out of something. I don't know. But I hate this one. I don't want to look at it.

"Something ugly," I say. "Like a monster or something. "

She simply nods. Now we're on the last card. This is a little easier than I thought it would be. It's not helping me, but it'll probably help this lady help me. Or something along the lines of that.

This one's blinding. It's got a bunch of colors on it. I didn't even know colored ones existed. It's complicated, hurting my eyes. I don't like to look at this one either. But the way all the colored inkblots are arranged reminds me of something. They all look fired up, like they're excited about something. Watching a show. Or a wrestling match, maybe.

"_Okay, the time has finally come!" Stan shouted. That white thing was riding up my ass. I hated it. I didn't want to fight. It was cold. I was hungry. I was tired. And I was going to fight Tweek. _

"_Programs, get your programs!" Clyde was handing out programs for the fight. How stupid. I was wondering who the hell even made those. _

"_Remember, Tweek. Punch hard, punch low. This is when you gotta get mean," Kyle said to Tweek._

"_Gah! Mean!" _

"_The spirit of the dragon is in your hands. Per-dong deh-sher-jong," Cartman muttered to me. I didn't even know what the hell that meant either. _

"_Okay."_

"_Now listen to me: Per-shong der-sher-jong! I'm seriously! Per-shong deh-shing-dwer duong!" He wouldn't shut up with that Chinese or Japanese or whatever language he was pretending to speak._

"_Okay, okay!"_

"_You ready Tweek? Ready Craig? Let's get it on!"_

"_Respect my authority," I said; and it was only because Cartman told me to. I swore I would have turned around and punched him instead._

"_Come on Tweek!" People shouted. We began to hit each other, and I had felt so uncomfortable hitting him. He was too innocent and too cute to hit. I couldn't believe what I was doing. On the other hand, Tweek seemed to be very, very angry with me._

"_Come on Craig!" I heard from Cartman._

"_Go Tweek, kick his ass!"_

"_Come on Craig!" There he goes again._

_We were really going at it. It was pretty crazy. We knocked over shit, and even though it was really, really cold outside, we were still sweating._

_After a load of punches and kicks, we just stopped and stared at each other. Breathing on one another. His breath smelled of strong coffee. And for just a moment, I was lost in his eyes. And I was only eight years old; I didn't know what it meant. But I was lost for just a moment._

"_Woah, Tweek, did you hear that?" Kyle said out of the blue._

_I found myself._

"_Huh?" Tweek squeaked._

"_Craig just called you a boner!" Kyle's an asshole too._

"_Gah!"_

_We proceeded to fight. _

What? Now I'm confused.

I don't know what to say. What do I do, tell her the whole story? No, no... I couldn't. What's close enough to the story that I can say? Keep it simple.

"Fighting people."

I think that's close enough. The shrink nods.

"Craig, can you go outside and bring Tweek back in? I'd now like to speak to the both of you."

**Tweek's PoV**

"Tweeks! Come back in," Craig calls from the doorway. I rise from my seat. My back hurts, and eyes and brain all ache. I need coffee.

We sit down next to each other on the squishy sofa. The squishy sofa that pretty much started it all. I'll remember this sofa when I die.

"Tweek, Craig," Dr. Thorton starts. What she's about to say may be really good or really bad. We're staying tuned to find out. "After speaking and testing you two seperately, and noticing your acts in behavior... I think it may be best for the two of you to check yourselves into the nearest mental hospital."

_End of Part One_


	10. Séance Finale: Closing

**A/N: **Hi. It's July 18th, 2010. I updated this last on April 11th, 2009.

It's been quite a while, hasn't it?

First and foremost, I'm sorry to those who have followed from the beginning and have been waiting for this story to update. Especially since it was meant to be told in more than one part, and I ended it last at part one. I'm sorry to those who have just begun reading it and come to this update only to find out that it's ending.

Really, I'm ending it right here. Well, it's not _ending_. That implies conclusion of the story. This is not concluded. It's not finished. It's being discontinued, however, that does _not_ mean I'm leaving you with nothing more than chapter nine. I am giving you what I have of chapter ten, but as I said, it's not finished. It's against fanfiction dot net's policies and shiz to have an entire chapter being an author's note. Plus, that'd be kinda lame.

There's a lot of things this story is to me. I remember brainstorming in October 2008 in my grandfather's car, on the way to buy fabric for my Halloween costume (a Kenny cosplay, pfft) and I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I had so much in mind for this story. I knew that I didn't want it to be a happy story, I knew I wanted it to be batshit insane and creepy and raw and I wanted to have fun with it. I _did_ have fun with it. I remember drawing for it and telling and asking people about it and just being so _goddamn excited_. Call me a no-life, but this story was really, really, really important to me at points in my life.

I liked to call it a success. I really liked my work and the feedback I'd gotten. There was some point between chapters eight and nine where it just fell.

Chapter nine was forced out of me. I remember staying up until five in the morning writing it and I was so exhausted, my body was aching and my mind wasn't working. I wouldn't dare write in that condition now. After chapter nine was finished, I feared chapter ten. Even then, I feared that I wouldn't depict it realistically. It was at that point that I'd gotten really, really anal with research and facts and things. I wouldn't stop researching asylums and asking people about them, and putting myself in Craig and Tweek's shoes.

And over time, I grew to hate this story more - I couldn't work with it. After analyzing the characters, I felt like I knew them more personally. Firstly, I noticed how OOC they are - Craig is too nice, and too happy, and he's been in too many relationships as it is. Tweek, I think is just annoying. I don't want to use this author's note to bash on my own writing, however, since I _have_ learned a lot from writing this. You have to start somewhere in a fandom, I think this may have been too big a start for me.

Other than Craig and Tweek themselves, it was just the mentality and situations and _everything_ that I depicted so wrongly and just pathetically. It's hard writing something that you don't or haven't experienced, so I just had to try faking it in them. They don't act the way they should, or at least they don't think or act the way I had pictured them _before_ I started writing this.

Next, came the sex. I don't even want to go there. That was everything that you're taught _not_ to do when writing porn (pfft, I've never read _guides_ up until now, they're pretty damn helpful). It was too soon with no development (not that I have improved that much in sexual relationship development, cough cough Taco-Man?), and I don't understand Tweek's magic pleasure rectum.

Okay, I'm stopping here on that subject.

Anyway, since everything was just so painful for _me_ to read and think about, I couldn't dare continue it. I really, really can't. But with so many people having added this to their alerts and favorites, I couldn't leave this story with nothing. It's kind of my baby.

And, between now and April 11th, 2009, I received my first fanart, from guess-who zeromotion. That, without a doubt, made this story shoot up when it didn't need to be. Not that I don't appreciate the art - it's really beautiful - but it got more attention than I'd imagined.

Speaking of, you know, other people, the best thing this story has brought me is the people I've met. I've met dozens if not hundreds of amazing people in this fandom alone, but if I'd never written this story, I wouldn't know most of those amazing people, and you know who you are. This story also brought me one person who changed my fucking life forever, and _you_ know who you are. That's really what I value most about this story. /cue violin

But yes. This FIRST author's note is long, so I will now leave you to read what I have of chapter ten. The second author's note is after the story and it'll have an explanation of where this story was supposed to go, and my final words.

Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with this story the past near-two years. This story and everyone involved in it means more to me than like anything, so just... thank you.

* * *

**Craig**

I heard a joke once.

It was funny. The joke goes like this: A man is driving down the street, when he realizes he has a flat tire. He pulls over in front of a mental asylum. While changing the tire, the four lug nuts he needed to attach the hubcap fall into a sewer. A patient from the asylum was hanging out by the fence. The patient tells the driver, "Use one lug nut from each of the three remaining tires to put on the spare." The driver says, "Wow, that's really smart. Why did they put you in an asylum?" The patient replied, "Because I'm crazy, not stupid."

* * *

_It's raining, it's pouring,  
__The old man is snoring,  
__He went to bed with a bump on his head,  
__And he didn't wake up in the morning._

* * *

**Tweek**

It should be snowing.

It should be snowing and it is not snowing. Snow is light, fluffy and soft, and is usually a symbol of playfulness or even peace, like a white Christmas morning, maybe. Kids make angels in snow, create snowmen. Snow is somewhat happy weather. Well, this is South Park, in January, and it is not snowing. It's cold as hell, nonetheless, but it's not snowing like it should be. There's plenty of snow on the ground, but it's brown and tainted, like it's been walked all over and disrespected. It is actually raining. Have you ever been happy in the rain? It's raining because that's what the world is supposed to do when there's a dreary moment, a melancholic moment or even a horrific moment. The current situation applies to all of the above – I'm in a car, with Craig and my father at the same time. We've just been recommended to check into a mental asylum, I finally know that I'm legally and legitimately insane, a danger to myself and others, and someone is yelling at me. But the car is silent. Except for the obnoxious rain crying, screeching, roaring at me. They seem to be screaming at me, however, they are brushing lightly past the windows, and greeting them kindly.

This is dreary and melancholic. Hence the rain.

_Rain, rain, go away,  
__Come again some other day._

It was still raining when my father shooed Craig out of the car outside of his house.

"Have a good night, Craig," he murmurs.

Knowing Craig, I was expecting a little, _"You too, Mr. Tweak. Thanks for the ride,_" maybe just a hint of that politeness that he seems to show on occasion with his elders, but instead, he keeps his mouth shut. Maybe he didn't hear him. Craig pushes open the car door against the wind and water, clutching himself, and his hat, tightly. Before my dad even has the chance to drive away without me saying goodbye, I fight the weather (the weather seemed to be winning) to open the door. The wind slams the door just inches away from my fingertips (Jesus, _so_ close, I could have lost my fingers just like that). Following after Craig's brooding silhouette in the pouring rain, I grab him by his bicep and meet his eyes.

"So?" I say, "You haven't spoken since we left."

Craig's eyes don't meet mine. He just stares straight over my head. He turns back towards his front door and walks slowly, seeming to get even slower with each splashing step. He stands beneath the roof of his porch, avoiding the rain but still being practically knocked over by the wind.

"Hey, I'm talking to you—"

He reaches into his back pocket where there is a single key, without even a keychain or little supermarket membership fob, which he pokes into the door. And that's as far as he gets. He just sticks the key into the lock and doesn't turn it. He sighs.

"Well, what is it?" I ask.

He sighs again; it's more of a chilled, shivered sigh this time. He removes his favorite blue hat (which is a rare event to witness) and stuffs it into his coat pocket. Running his fingers through his damp, inky hair, he sighs a third time, chattering his teeth in the process. He mutters something. I can't understand him.

"What?"

He mutters it again, just a little louder, but the rain is talking over him.

"_What_?"

"… You did this to me."

I wish that sentence wasn't so true.

"You… you did this to me. You… _You_… _You did this to me._"

I wish he'd stop reminding me, and I so desperately wish that the truth hurt less.

"Craig, I—"

"I wish you never _told_ me! I wish I never knew. Now I'm hearing voices, and they're undoubtedly _real_ – I'll probably never be able to sleep again. I can't just _be_ anymore. That's all I wanted to do, I just wanted to _be_. Now I can't help but _be scared_. I'm—I…"

Craig's eyes suddenly make this huge switch, and it just rips through me. They turned from their original sorrowful dark green into a fierce, fiery lighter green, lit up with… anger, is it? Some sort of negative light, like bubbling toxic acid.

And they're tearing right through me.

"You—!" Baring his teeth ferociously, like an angry animal, he grapples me and clashes me against his front door.

I'm just helpless at this point. His nails are digging into my cotton shirt, it feels like the threads are fraying, and I realize – oh my God, he's going to kill me… he's going to pull a knife out of his back pocket and stab me until he can paint portraits with my blood, he's going to rip me to shreds for doing this to him—

"_It's all because of you_," he seethes.

I hyperventilate, gritting my teeth. My boyfriend is going to destroy me, because it's all the little freak's fault he can't just _be_. Please don't, Craig, please don't hurt me—he's lost it again, and now we're back where we started. He's already tried to kill us both, now this—!

"_Please,_" I plead, just above a whisper. "D-Don't hurt me."

I know this isn't Craig – again, it's the imperfection showing.

The monster I created.

"I'm not going to do anything," he whispers, just half a volume bar below mine. "I just…"

He releases his grasp from my shirt, but my heart – my heart is still running a marathon.

The rain and wind quiet to a steady patter on the sidewalk. The winds cease their hard bellowing, but still whisper through the streets.

"I think we should go," he says firmly.

"Go? Go where?"

"The mental… place. Asylum, hospital, ward, institution, whatever you wanna call it. I think it'd be best for us if we go."

If I didn't know any better, I'd say the rain is listening to our conversation. It starts to fall even harder, practically drilling holes in the earth.

I don't want to go to a mental asylum. I don't want to go. I won't go. No, no, no and no. "What? It was just a suggestion, wasn't it? We're not obligated to go to an asylum… she was just… suggesting… right? We don't _have_ to go! A-And they can't just _cure_ us, y-you know that. No one ever gets cured in mental asylums. They usually _die_ in there because of the lack of, um, sunlight, and water and food. They'll put us in straightjackets and padded cells and we'll just _lose it_!"

Okay, I know I'm lying there, because I'm sure that, at this point, it would be illegal for us _not_ to go.

"You're thinking of asylums from the sixties. They were like prisons – I mean, come on, it's two-thousand nine. The medicine is better and more efficient. That's the whole _point_ of asylums, Tweek. And it just sounds scarier because you're saying _asylum_. It's a _hospital._ Where people get _treated_. We'll probably get a room, with a bed and whatnot – like a hotel."

Is he expecting room service? "Craig, it's _not_ a vacation! You can't just go there because you want to! You have to be… totally, completely and utterly insane to go to one of those places—"

"We are totally, completely and utterly insane."

"So you just want isolate yourself from the entire goddamn world? We're already suspended from school, now you want to suspend us from the whole outside world? Are you _crazy_?"

"… Yes, I am."

"That's not what I meant—"

"Shh," he hushes me, putting a finger to his lips. "… are you hearing what I'm hearing?"

If I'm hearing what he's hearing, he must be listening to the gossipy rain. They're so loud. They can't keep a secret.

"Yeah," I say. "The rain… it talks a lot, you know. They usually talk about sad things. They really like that."

"Think they're telling a story or something?" Craig inquires.

The immediate subject change is alarming me. What happened to the asylum? Are we going or not? Craig was about to kill me, and now he's just split down the middle, just talking about the weather?

Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it.

"They've been listening to us," I explain. "Using us, you know. So they can tell our story to the grass and the ground – the rain talks, and the rest just listen. I-I hate the rain, a-actually… I wish it'd just… _stop…_"

"Stop?" Craig goes. "Oh, no. I hope it never stops. The story's not done."

"What—?"

"Goodnight, Tweek." He turns the key that is already in the lock. And that's as far as he gets before he kisses me abruptly. His lips have a chill, sort of trembling; like he's iffy about it.

"Goodnight," I say, when we separate, even though the conversation clearly isn't over. Craig just disappears into his home without another word.

_Is it the rain that makes the mood so melancholy? Or is it the melancholy that makes it rain? Which comes first?_

* * *

**Craig**

When I shut the front door behind me, I think for only a second that this night is over, and I can finally—

"Craig!"

Damn.

As if I didn't have enough things on my mind at the moment, another one has to barge in at the worst moment possible.

It's my short and stocky little mother. Her arms are outspread, and her shoulders are kind of jerking up and down, because… she's… crying.

Damn.

She circles her arms around me and cries into my chest – she's so much shorter than me, it's a little ridiculous, but I mean…

Damn.

What did I _do_?

"Hi, mom," I say, rubbing her back. "What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong_?" she sobs, taking me in even closer. "You've been gone all day. I tried calling you on your cell phone, but you left it in the house, I tried calling your friends and _they_ didn't know where you were… I… I… You just gave me a heart attack, Craig Thomas! Where _were_ you?" God, she sounds so mad when she uses my middle name… well, Mom, let's see…

I was just out with my boyfriend at this totally messed up carnival where we went into a house of mirrors and suffered from mass hallucinations, resulting in nearly hanging ourselves outside of this very house, then being found by my boyfriend's father and getting into a fistfight with him, then having to be driven to a psychologist's office, only to be diagnosed with some French disease and being told to check into an insane asylum—

No, no, no, too wordy – too honest… I couldn't tell her I was hanging out with Token or something, considering she probably called him too, so… half the truth isn't lying.

"Remember Tweek?" I ask.

"Tweek? Was… Was he the boy who came here earlier to pick up his things?"

"Uh, yeah, well, I was out with him," I say. "I… guess I should go to my room now. I'm grounded, right? Yeah… well… night, Mom."

I make a beeline for the staircase—

"Wait, Craig, I'm not done with you," my mom says.

Damn.

"Yeah, what?" I throw back.

"Don't you ever dare do that again." She brings me back into her arms once again. It's been a long time since she's actually done this – I wasn't expecting her to break my heart as soon as I got home… or, just like, ever. "Do you hear me? Please don't run off or disappear like that; I know you're not a child anymore, but ever since the incident with Peru… I just can't bear to lose you again."

She hasn't even mentioned the Peru incident since the year it happened. I can't say she wasn't a little bit overprotective of me for the next few months (or years, like shit I can remember). But, that broke off and just became sort of a pinprick in my life.

The way she looks into me is just devastating. It's like she's putting on her tragedy mask to make me feel guilty. It's a very good mask, honestly. I never counted on my mom making me cry as soon as I got home. Or, just like, ever. You know.

Damn.

"… I know you're almost eighteen, and to see my firstborn going on eighteen already, I-I'm a little heartbroken, is all. You're still and always will be my little boy, no matter how much taller you are than me, no matter how many times more you flip me off and no matter how many decisions you make on your own. Please remember that, alright? I have every right to be worried of your whereabouts, so please… just remember that I still love you."

Shit.

Okay, so I never asked for waterworks or anything like that. It's not like I can really control what I do anymore. But somehow my face thinks it's just A-OK to start crying, like it's gonna make me look any stronger in this situation.

"M-Mom—"

"And you can always talk to me about anything. Anything at all, I'm still here for you, Craig."

"Mom…"

"And promise me… promise me, that when I wake up tomorrow, you'll be here for me, too. Because I'm your mother and a mother needs her son as much as her son needs his mother."

Her words sink so deeply into my skin that they are now running through my veins. Okay, like I said before, I'm not crying or anything like that. I'm tired and there's probably some gunk in my eyes, or maybe someone's cutting onions somewhere down the block.

That's a load of BS. It's gotten to the point where I'm raining tears into her shoulder. The tears are utterly unstoppable. The senseless blubbering is absolutely killing me. I just wish they'd stop, but…

The story's not done.

When I lifted my head slightly from her shoulder, through my blurry vision I could still see through the kitchen window that it was _still_ raining outside.

They were really in for quite a story, weren't they?

At the sight of the rain, I could say that I start to cry harder – but I'm not really sure. (Because, seriously, I wasn't even crying in the first place.) Maybe it's the rain crying, or maybe it's me. I guess I can never know.

_You really are gay, aren't you?_

Mom and I separate. "Go upstairs. Get some sleep, please. Please."

I wipe the little pussy tears from my cheeks. "Yeah," I choke. "'Kay. Night, mom."

"Good night."

When I head for the stairs, I expect my mom to follow behind me. But as I glance over my shoulder, I see that she's still sitting there at the dining room table, rubbing her reddened face, wet and glassy-looking beneath the dim table light.

I try to creep by the plain row of bedroom doors as quietly as possible. Wouldn't want to wake Dad or my sis—

"Missing something, Asshat?"

Damn.

"Told you not to call me Asshat," I say to her, through my clenched teeth (on the bridge between angry twitching and smirking).

"D'aw." She purses her lips, looking like a bitchy duck. "Is witto' Cwaig offended when Wuby calls him Asshat?"

"D'aw." I purse my lips to mirror hers. "Shouldn't witto' Wuby be in bed? Witto' baby Wuby has school tomowwow."

Dropping the baby accent, she says, "It's only, like, eleven-thirty."

"Yeah, and—"

"You didn't answer my question," she interrupts, "you feel like you're missin' something?"

Not that Ruby would know or anything, but in actuality, I do feel like I'm missing quite a few things. _I.E. Your sanity, your will to make reasonable decisions, your ability to keep from crying, et cetera. But none of those things are physically lost. Mentally, you're missing practically everything._

"I'm talking about this."

She reaches into the pocket of her oversized sweatshirt (that I'm pretty sure belongs to me) and, lo, out comes a small brown notebook. She flips it over in her hand to reveal the cover of it.

**CRAIG'S  
**_Journal _

I guess I was missing something else.

"Where did you get that?" I spit.

"Oh, you know." She flicks her wrist.

I try to snatch the book from her palm, but she pulls away at sound speed.

"I'm the martial artist, and you're the grasshopper," she says. "If you can grab the journal from my hand, you can have it back."

Is she serious? Well, this is Ruby. She's always making me do shit like this. She's always like, "You have to do something for me to get so-and-so back," and, "If you do my math homework, I won't tell mom and dad you smoked weed and almost cooked Stripe in the microwave." And she's, like, twelve years old and weighs eighty-five pounds or something, or whatever is too low for a twelve year-old girl to weigh. Even the size of her head looks too big for her body to hold.

"Alright," I agree. "Hold it out."

The journal lies available in her palm, ready to be taken by its original owner. This shit's mine. It'll be just like stealing candy from a baby… only, this is completely guilt-free. And the candy's actually mine. Not that I would be guilty about stealing candy from a baby. I don't like babies.

I hover my hand over the journal, hardly touching it. My hand twitches, making Ruby pull the book back all the way. The book is back below my palm, and my hand flinches to trick her. If I can just get the timing right, then I should be able to—

_FWAP!_

"Why the hell did you do that?" I demand, holding the mark on my face where the book hit me. I forgot how much those things hurt. Well, no, I mean, it wasn't even hurting in the first place. I was just startled. A smack to the face with a book by a twelve year-old girl? Painless. Yeah.

"Because you're an asshat," Ruby drones.

Ruby's gonna be a great lawyer some day, I swear.

Well, let's see what the judge says when I snatch that journal right out of her hands and run into my bedroom with it.

Which is exactly what I do.

"Hey, you weren't supposed to do that! That's cheating—!"

Her voice fades off in the hallway when I slam my door behind me and slide backward against it. Leaning against a decade-old Red Racer poster, I flip open the journal, which isn't quite as old as said Red Racer poster, but close enough. On the inside cover, fresh ink pops off the page in curly-cue handwriting, with a heart drawn next to it.

"_Ruby was here"_

No surprise, the little bitch tainted my journal.

Next to the inside cover (the inside-inside cover?) is my handwriting. Very old handwriting, from about… four years ago, I think, if I can do simple math. The pencil's smeared across the page, from years of opening and closing and opening and closing the cover again. The smudges read:

"_My name is Craig Tucker.  
__This is __my__ journal.  
__Don't steal it."_

Well, apparently that single rule did not apply to Ruby Tucker. I'm still wondering where she found it - I can't even remember where it's been for the past year.

When that introductory page is turned, I find the first entry, dated October 30th, 2005.

_Dear Journal,_

_My name is Craig Tucker. Last week, Mr. Mackey told me I needed a sort of 'art form' to 'ease my anger'. I thought it was a really stupid idea, but my mom thought it was __genius__. So, for my grand 13__th__ birthday, my mom got me this goddamn journal._

_I was __not__ happy._

There's more to the entry, but I've just been rudely interrupted by the door opening right behind me. I think I've dislocated my spine.

"Could you please _knock_ before you enter my roo—"

"No."

"Oh," I say, raising my eyebrows as if I were oblivious to her carelessness. "Then…" I point to the door, "Can I ask you to get the fuck out of my room, walk back down the hall, come back down here, knock and _then_ enter?"

"No."

"Then you're not welcome here."

"I'm not here to be welcomed," Ruby says. She shuts the door, and sits cross-legged on the carpet, seeing eye-to-eye with me. Resting her elbows on her bony knees, she looks up at me sweetly. Her eyes are innocent.

It's dark in the room, nothing but a flickering lamp that I left on while I was gone.

Her eyes. Innocent. Innocent. Innocent. As innocent as a homicidal maniac.

"You really messed up mom tonight," she's like.

"I know," I'm like, "I talked to her when I came in."

"Why do you always wander off like that?" she asks. "You did it all the time when you were a kid. And you still do. Can't you take care of yourself? Or do you need a babysitter to follow you around and make sure you don't get distracted by shiny things?"

As she speaks, I flip through the pages of the journal, making it simply look as though I'm not interested. I see certain keywords in the entries, such as "I", "am", "in", "love", "with", and "Tweek", but the entries themselves hardly process.

Clearly, the little Demon Girl is trying to set me off. She's so stupid and so smart at the same goddamn time, it just sets me off knowing that we're related.

"_No_," I seethe, "You _know_ me. Almost eighteen, got friends to meet, people to see and places to go."

"You have a tendency to disappear. This isn't the first time. That's why mom's so screwed up," Ruby explains. She's sitting up straighter, now eying the journal in my hand. "By the way, that journal oozes gayness," she whispers.

I furrow my eyebrows at her. Not only did the Demon Girl taint the inside cover with her ugly signature, but she also read it, as predicted.

I flip her off.

She returns the favor.

She lowers her finger and returns to her bored, innocent gaze. "Mom is a poor, petite, paranoid lady," she continues. "Do you not feel any remorse for her?"

"Of course I do. I just… I just think she babies me. You know. She still does my laundry."

"That's because you're always missing and have no time to do your own laundry."

I flip her off again.

Generously enough, she does not return the favor this time.

"You used to be so boring," she's like. "I think everyone liked you better when you were boring."

Boring. I was boring. That's what kept me out of trouble. I didn't want to get involved with anyone or anything. I went to school, came home, drank Dr. Pepper, watched Red Racer, blew off my homework, slept, woke up and repeated. But what else was a ten or twelve year-old supposed to do? By the time everyone was like, thirteen, the little adolescent globs of clay were being molded into actual people. That's when I was molded into this… this… I don't even—

"I was worried about you too, you know."

I look down upon her. I find it painfully difficult to believe her. "Oh?"

"Yeah," she says, her voice getting higher, "I was worried that you'd come back."

When she closes the door behind her, I finally remembered something.

She really kind of hates me.

But, I don't hate her. How can I hate someone that's barely a part of my life? She's my sister, for crying out fucking loud; she lives with me, I watched her grow up. But she's not a part of my life. Never have I helped her with her homework, _or_ offered to protect her from bullies, _or_ played dolls with her when she really, _really_ needed someone to play with, _or_ told her she looked pretty before a party, _or_ bought her the best present ever for her birthday, _or_ invented our own game on a rainy day. None of that has ever happened between us. I was never a big brother to her, and it's only fair, because she's never been a little sister to me. She's more like a pest. Most little sisters are pests - ha, following typical script there. But, in the end, the brothers and sisters always come to terms and admit their familial love for each other. That's never happened to us, and at our ages, I'd say the bonding scene is overdue. It's never happened. And that's why she hates me.

Well, that's okay, I guess. One less person to miss me when I leave with Tweek tomorrow. Every theory the parents had about their little kiddies running away when they've gone missing will finally be true. Maybe our faces'll be on the sides of milk cartons. But do they even do that for kids our age? I've never really seen a report of a missing kid older than thirteen. So, maybe we won't even be missing. Just misplaced. Like a misplaced cell phone or something.

I wonder what Tweek wanted to do. It was kind of obvious that he didn't want to go, but it wasn't the time for another argument. Fuck, I was cold. I don't know if it's more insane whether to stay here or not. I didn't let him speak long enough only because I didn't want to hear him oppose my decision. I left him confused. I almost hurt him. It'd hurt me more if I'd brought him down even lower than he already was, if that was even possible.

Even when I try to stay away from conflict, I find myself tied up in something. I've learned that's how life is. It plays tricks on you, and you fall into traps. You can't control it, really. I learned that a long time ago. I still don't like being caught up in shit. So I don't even know why I'm on the computer, googling directions to a mental asylum, so I can drive away with Tweek tomorrow - I don't even know if that's running away from or running towards conflict. I know I'm going to find it where ever I go. I don't like conflict, but I like keeping my sanity. That's why I'm going. That's why we're going.

Note the keywords that Tweek's psychiatrist said - "_nearest_" mental asylum. There is a problem with that. The _nearest _mental asylum is _still_ in South Park. I don't know who in their right mind (not that mine is all that right, but whatever) would not try to _leave_ South Park when given the chance to get the fuck out of this asscrack of a town.

How far could Tweek and me possibly get? It's not like we're going to take a plane to a foreign country, or even drive out of state. And whose car was I even going to take? Running away is harder than I thought. Wait, no. I'm not running away. I'm taking action to preserve my sanity. That sounds a little less... insane. _Who are you kidding_? _It's okay to be little mad. Aren't we all? _I'd rather not be mad. _No matter how hard you try not to be, you'll always be a little mad. Kidding yourself isn't going to cancel out or reduce any hint of madness inside of you. You're just trying to be funny. You should be a comedian. I liked that joke you told. Tell it again. _Oh. We should be a comedic duo. I think we would earn big laughs. _I think we've come to a deal, Craig Tucker. Surely, we could come up with a comedy routine that would bring down the madhouse. In fact, I think the past few days of your life have consisted of great topics for a comedy routine. Everything you say makes me laugh. Get up on stage. Tell some more jokes, Craig. _

I stop focusing on the computer for a second, and just hold my head in my hands. It hurts. Everything hurts. When it talks too much, it's just a big trip towards a migraine and just _fuck. _Make it stop. I don't even want to leave the room to find some aspirin or anything like that. I just can't move. I feel almost paralyzed, and even my eyes hurt, and it's not just the bright computer screen that's bothering me. I have been up since seven in the morning and I didn't even have to be in school. I'm _never_ functional before noon if I don't have to go to school. I'd fall asleep, if I could. But God knows what would happen if I even tried that. It's a real bitch, being afraid to sleep. A real, real bitch. _If you keep losing sleep, you're going to be bored. You're boring me. Tell me more jokes. You're losing the audience. _

And I feel like I'm on a stage. I'm alone in the room, but I do feel like I'm being watched. I'm just being pressed for entertainment. Someone wants more. I'm on a stage, and there's a sound of crickets. The audience is full of faceless people. _Tell some of those jokes of yours, Craig_.

I continue to do what I do. Even though they're faceless, God knows how many eyes are even on me right now.

My hands are shaking, but I can't move them. They're moving, but not in the _damn _way I want them to. I actually have to hold my wrist with my other hand to bring it to press control-P on my keyboard to print out the directions.

_We're waiting._

Cricket. Cricket. Cricket.

"Hey, so... what's the deal with airplane food?" I murmur. My voice echoes. I watch the directions to the asylum print out. It's a couple of pages. It's upstate. The ride's three hours.

Three hours just to maintain my sanity. I must be insane.

I hear laughter. It's like sitcom laughter. But louder, and more obnoxious. _Pretty funny, Tucker. More, more, more! _

* * *

**A/N**: I'm afraid this is where I left off. At this point, there was supposed to be a hallucination - a vision, a fantasy, whatever - of Craig as a stand-up comic, though, of course, with twists of horror. And really, I don't know how to explain what happens next.

Craig and Tweek were supposed to run away to the asylum without their parents knowing. Which would be pretty improbable considering their condition. They'd be admitted without a choice. Craig was meant to be driving the whole time - Tweek doesn't have his license in this. It was also supposed to be raining the whole time. Cue raining blood and tar? Yes, they were supposed to hallucinate during the car ride too - sort of. But, seriously, that was most of the chapter. Riding in the car. I really had nothing else planned.

Okay, that's kind of a lie. In my head, the car ride took up like half of the chapter, but there were key horror scenes I had in mind as well. Craig was supposed to go take a shower - and if you didn't guess, in his eyes, the shower water would have turned into something totally batshit - blood (Psycho?), tar, or spiders. I hadn't quite decided, but I think spiders would be pretty damned scary. I think I may have had something in mind as to _why_ Craig sees this while showering - I think it was foreshadowing for the asylum scenes. I'll get to that in a later paragraph...

After Craig's shower, I planned to pan to Tweek who was basically doing nothing, and somehow leads up to him talking to himself in a mirror and then breaking said mirror, because you know that's totally original. I don't know what I would have done with that, but I guess I'll never know.

On Craig's journal: I bought a journal. No shit, I bought a fucking journal from the bookstore and wrote his name on it. I wrote like one entry where I tried to make it look like Craig's handwriting at age thirteen. He was supposed to explain how he liked Tweek even back then. He was supposed to explain all the things you could hate about Tweek and why he loves them. He had a fear of being alone, which is why he had been in so many relationships. Also, I was going to cut to journal entries while they were in the asylum if they were relevant to what was happening, or would at least trigger a flashback.

Now, on the asylum: Craig and Tweek couldn't be roommates, due to their condition, so they were split up into two different rooms. Craig coincidentally roomed with Kenny, who is missing his right eye (bandaged and treated, obviously).

The story for Kenny's missing eye and his whole reasoning for being in the asylum was meant to be a separate one-shot, because the story is in Craig and Tweek's points of view, and Kenny doesn't want Craig to know what happened to him.

I had planned for Kenny's background story to be connected to Butters. It wouldn't necessarily be Bunny, because there is no love between them at all. It was supposed to be a universe in which Butters doesn't magically get his eye back after Kenny knocks it out with the Shuriken. Butters would have had lived his whole life missing his left eye - at some point, Kenny would have cracked because he couldn't live with the guilt that he cost Butters his eye, so in front of Butters, he gauges out his own eye so that they could be even - Butters, shocked and horrified, calls 911 and gets Kenny medical attention, and after a psychiatric evaluation, gets dropped in the asylum.

However, Tweek is not roomed with a canon SP character. For so many other SP characters to be in the asylum at the same time as Craig and Tweek, it would more likely be an AU fic, which it is not (supposed to be). With all these weird-ass things I included and messed up, it might as well be AU. But, that isn't what I planned.

Another thing that bothered me about continuing this chapter was that Tweek was to be roomed with a girl. I'm pretty sure that opposite sexes aren't roomed in asylums. The girl, though an original character, was _not_ meant to be the focus of the story, as most "OC" fics are. I don't like OC stories in general, so I was especially afraid to bring this girl in. There really was no other way to plan out Craig and Tweek being in an asylum without other people that _weren't_ from SP, so I ended up making up several other patients. The patients would have had disorders connected to what Craig and Tweek had already hallucinated - a phobia of mirrors, for example. The girl that Tweek roomed with, had a thing for playing with spiders (somewhat connected to... Craig's spider shower). She was based off some quirks from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, and she'd been known around the asylum as the "Jabberwocky," since she would recite verses from the poem, much like the Cheshire Cat. Quite a bit of detail for a background patient, I thought. She was one of my main fears for continuing the story, because she had a lot of detail and I didn't want this to turn into an OC story, as it was strictly Creek.

Aside from other characters, I didn't have much else planned besides the ending, and that was even harder to come up with. Without a solid plot here, I didn't know where to take it. I remember sending a letter - a handwritten letter, what a concept - to my best friend, who was at a sleepaway camp last summer, opening the letter with the ending of the story.

I announced that I was going to kill Tweek.

It would have been suicide. I wasn't sure how he would do it - asylums are meant to be suicide-proof, no? But that idea didn't last for long, either. In fact, the first ending I had come up with - before even starting the whole story - was that they would both die. I _knew_ there wasn't going to be a happy ending, it would either be one of them or both of them. I had this image in my mind of them somehow killing each other. Not necessarily, like, I-stab-you-you-stab-me (which I actually pictured at the time, because it makes SO much sense), it would be more like... they drove each other to suicide? I don't know, I think I kind of came up with that just now. Really, the whole thing was a mess. There is no ending, there is no plot, there are no characters or anything, so I'm ending it here.

I'm going to repeat what I said earlier - I'm really, really, really sorry for this - I mean, if you enjoyed the story. If you didn't, then you're welcome. But, I don't know whether I'm glad or sad that I'm ending this here. What this story has brought me is valuable - but also a lot to handle. It's one story off my chest for updating, but it's also leaving something important behind, and unfinished, at that.

But, you know, saying goodbye doesn't mean anything. It's the time we spent together that really matters... not how we left it!

And if you don't know what episode that's from, I don't know why you'd even read this story. LOL.

But, yes... this is goodbye to Folie à Deux, the madness of two. Craig and Tweek? They're still around. I think they can both be batshit insane together, in other places. I could write something else revolving around this concept - won't be as big though. It'll be a different style, at a different time and a different place. But for now, I have a lot of other projects to take care of that mean a lot to me now, too. And hopefully none of them will end as incompletely as this did.

I'm gonna be a freak and speak to the story as if it were a person - so you can ignore this part. Thank you, for all the people you've brought me. Thank you for teaching me how to use Craig and Tweek. Thank you for giving me something to feel accomplished for. Thank you for bringing me into this fandom. Thank you for playing a big role on the path to who I am today.

You probably read that anyway. Whatever, I'm gonna talk to you now. Thank you reading all the way up to this point. It really means a lot to me. Thank you for keeping this story alive for a good nine chapters. I have enough to thank you for, so, just fucking thank you so much.

This story was the beginning of my time here. I have more to come - more to learn with, and more to make memories with.

See you on the other side.

* * *

_"I will never end up like him - behind my back, I already am. Keep a calendar, this way, you will always know." _


End file.
